<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Wind in the Sails by vidnyia</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777964">Wind in the Sails</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidnyia/pseuds/vidnyia'>vidnyia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1800s, Cartographer Armin, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Romance, Sailor Jean, Sailors, Self-Discovery, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, They/Them Pronouns for Hange Zoë, a lot of tension between jean and armin at all times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:55:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidnyia/pseuds/vidnyia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to honour his grandfather's final wish, Armin boards the Ship Sina in search of a new life. However, before his adventure can begin, he must survive the dangers of the ocean during the vessel's two-month journey across the Pacific. Under the disdainful watch of his bunkmate Jean Kirstein, Armin struggles to adapt to life aboard the eccentric ship, beginning to question everything as the wind leads him in a direction he never could have planned for. [1800s Sailors AU]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this AU was the winner of a poll i did over on my twitter, which is @vindyia ! i'm both nervous and excited about this story, as it's probably the most ambitious i have ever written, and hours of research and planning have gone into it already. please consider leaving me a review, every single one helps and inspires me! i hope you enjoy! - vid :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The port in the morning told a thousand tales. A new city was being born, growing in size with each passing day, and as the sun rose above the sea, life had no time to rest. The docks brought both prosperity and life. Hundreds of people were making their way on and off boats, carrying cargo, trading, or shouting to be heard over the waves of noise. Traders, fishermen, sailors, Naval officers, even men in search of gold - they were all gathered where the land met the water for some purpose or another. The merchants called out to each passerby, competing for business by shouting about whatever fur or hot meal they were selling. Groups of sailors wearing their white uniforms and blue ties walked together, large and imposing but laughing and enjoying their time on land all the while. The smell of the sea was fresh in the air as the fishing boats hauled their morning catch ashore, overwhelming to those who weren’t yet used to it. Horses led carts of goods from foreign lands out to the morning markets. Perhaps there wasn’t a place in the world as diverse as this, with so many different languages being spoken, so many cultures combined. </p><p>For most there, it was just routine - but for Armin, that morning marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one he hoped would be even more thrilling than all the bustle and chaos around him. With his shirt tucked in and his hair tied back, Armin navigated through the crowds of people. It was hard not to get distracted - with so many fascinating things to catch his attention, Armin kept stopping to admire the sheer <em> life </em> of all that surrounded him. The ocean was so blue, stretching on forever behind the ships, and Armin stared out at the reflections of light on the gentle waves. Trying to make his way to the very edge of the docks, Armin planned to find someone who might tell him where the boats were headed.</p><p>He was in search of a ship sailing to Asia - specifically, to Japan. Through word of mouth, Armin had recently been made aware that the country was in need of bright minds from all around the world to aid in its industrialisation, calling for geologists to engineers. It was a sign - Armin was certain the world was finally pushing him towards the adventure that ran in his blood. </p><p>The night before, he made it to the city after a long journey from his hometown, travelling by cart, then walking a fair way too - his legs still ached terribly, but the view and excitement were more than enough to revitalise him. Even the heavy suitcase he carried felt lighter when he looked out at all the liveliness of the port city. He didn’t want to leave his belongings at the small room he was renting - instead, he carried them with him just in case he had to jump onto a ship at a moment’s notice. Armin wanted to be prepared for everything.</p><p>Out across the water, the masts of ships stood in rows, on and on, going so far back it was a wonder that each boat could navigate its way out. Those further back had their sails up, ready for the wind to carry them out to sea. Each ship had the endless potential for adventure, the ability to traverse the entire globe. It made Armin ache when he thought of it; the whole world was out there waiting, lands that he’d never seen, languages he’d never heard. He only knew the outside world through tales, but now it was within his reach - this port was the door and it was wide open.</p><p>All he had to do was find a boat to Japan.</p><p>Too nervous to talk to a group of burly-looking sailors unprompted, Armin searched for a man alone, anyone who he thought might take his request seriously. Where did he even start? Wherever he looked, everyone was busy, working too hard to spare any attention for him. Nobody was sitting idly, awaiting a conversation.</p><p>“Excuse me,” he said, trying to catch the attention of a fisherman, walking along beside him, having to take two steps to keep up with just one of the man’s long strides. </p><p>“You alright, kid?” the fisherman asked. He didn’t slow down; Armin broke into a light jog. </p><p>“I was just wondering if you know of any boats headed to Asia?” Armin asked, brushing off the <em> kid </em>comment - he’d always looked young and got mistaken for a teenager even at twenty-three. </p><p>“Asia? Don’t know. Asking the wrong guy there,” the man replied. </p><p>“How can I find out?”</p><p>“Find someone else!” he called, but Armin just sighed and slowed to a walk, letting him go on. He was panting for breath, so much so that he had to bend over double - he had never been particularly fit, despite his fondness for long walks. </p><p>After catching his breath, Armin bit his lip and stood up straight again, thinking as he took a look out at the ships. The vessel, he figured, would have to be carrying some kind of cargo, and enough of it to make the long trip across the Pacific profitable, so it would have to be quite large. Any of the smaller boats wouldn’t do, and he ignored the naval ones for then, too. He wanted to avoid the Navy if he could help it - he’d heard many stories about meagre rations and brutal violence on board. Armin could pick out a few ships that seemed suitable, so he swallowed his fear and walked onwards. </p><p>Smaller rowboats were used to transport the sailors from the ship to land, so Armin sat and studied those coming in, noting the shape and size of the vessels they came from. It was far too easy to lose those sailors as soon as they reached shore, though - it was so chaotically busy he could barely keep track of where he was sitting. </p><p>The first ship he asked about was headed south, as was the second. The third would take him halfway, going to Hawaii, but Armin didn’t want to take the risk of being stranded there. The fourth was going south, too. He had known it was a slim chance to find exactly what he was looking for on the first day of searching, but it was hard to not feel disheartened. </p><p>“It was never going to be simple,” he murmured to himself, trying to be encouraging. “Keep going.”</p><p>So he did. Getting up from his spot, Armin walked alongside the crowds of people, listening as intently as he could to the languages he could understand, hoping that he might find a lead. He walked all the way from one end of the docks to the other, and even after stopping to ask another few times, still, he had nothing. Above, the late spring sun was beating down on him as it rose higher into the sky, and Armin was getting frustrated. As he turned around to walk down again, wondering if he should just <em> shout </em> to the ships themselves, he caught sight of a tall, brown-haired sailor standing completely alone, looking out to sea. He was wearing a uniform that wasn’t like those Naval ones, though still had the familiar blue tie, just without any of the insignia. </p><p>“Excuse me,” Armin asked, walking over, trying to ignore the nerves he always felt when speaking to people he didn’t know. </p><p>When the sailor turned to look at him, Armin felt the disdain in his gaze, disapproval so intense that Armin had to take a step back, enough to make his stomach clench. Just the sight of that man’s scowl and narrowed eyes made him regret opening his mouth. Armin felt horribly <em> seen </em>when the sailor looked him up and down as if assessing him.</p><p>“What do you want?” he asked. His voice was deep and it cut through the busy noise of the docks. Armin wanted to run, but he steeled himself.</p><p>“Do you know of any ships headed for Japan?”</p><p>“I do not.” </p><p>“Are - are you sure?” Armin pressed, knowing he was pushing his luck, but figuring he might as well persist. “Not even just for Asia? I’m quite willing to pay, or work, or -”</p><p>“I said no,” the man snapped, with such finality that Armin knew better than to ask again. </p><p>Armin sighed, wondering if there was any use to this endeavour after all. Above, the late spring sun was beating down on him as it rose higher into the sky, and Armin was getting frustrated. He had a rather nasty habit of giving up much too quickly when he fell at the first hurdle - his grandfather had told him that often - but Armin didn’t want to give in easily this time. </p><p>“Thank you for your time,” he mumbled, then tipped his hat and went on his way, following the thinning crowd of people back down the docks, parallel to the sea.</p><hr/><p>That evening, Armin retired to the small room he was renting, exhausted, disheartened, and thoroughly anxious. Though he’d searched for as long as he could, Armin had no luck finding a suitable boat. Before leaving, he had organised this trip with extreme detail, and though he hadn’t deviated from the plan yet, desperation was right around the corner and he could feel it. What would he do if there were no ships to Japan? Stay until he found one, no matter how many weeks it took, or make the days-long trip back to the Midwestern town he had been so excited to finally move on from? What money he had would run out eventually - he left behind his steady source of work to embark on this adventure. </p><p>A tiny glimpse of the ocean was visible from his window. Armin stared out at it, watching the sunset, and sighed, dejected. </p><p>“I wish you were here,” he mumbled, thinking of his late grandfather, the man who had raised him, whose final words had pushed Armin to make this trip. It had been a year since his passing, but Armin missed his company, his wisdom, and his encouragement every single day. They were the only family the other had for a very long time, and being left alone was hard for Armin. </p><p>The first time he was abandoned was at just five years old. With a suitcase and wide smiles, his parents left Armin with his grandfather, taking off to travel, and never came home - what first was meant to be temporary quickly turned into a permanent trip. For years, they travelled the globe, writing home once in a blue moon to tell of their adventures, detailing all the exciting things Armin never had the chance to experience in his small country home. When each letter came Armin would pour over it, vividly imagining the places his parents spoke of, drawing pictures and his own little maps, dreaming that one day, he would get to join them or follow in their footsteps. He had many fond memories of reading those letters and his own stories aloud to his grandfather, who by then had gone blind. </p><p>Shortly after his twelfth birthday, the letters stopped coming. </p><p>Armin spent his teenage years breezing through his studies, earning a degree in geography at the age of seventeen, then going on to study cartography, all whilst caring for his grandfather who aided him greatly in return by funding it all. He was a gentle, kind man, clever in a way Armin admired, and loved to tell stories of this youth and his own trip across the Atlantic. It crushed Armin when he passed, but he pressed onwards, wanting to honour his grandfather’s final request that he one day see the world for himself. </p><p>As a cartographer, Armin spent his working days collecting information from the adventures of others and compiling that data into maps. He took measurements and estimates and accounts and created a replica of the land on paper, ready to be used by men other than him who wished to seek out those places. It was wistful work that exercised both his mind and imagination, but still, it was not as fulfilling as he once hoped, which was why Armin sought out the opportunity to take his profession into his own hands and travel to Japan where he could collect his own data and explore a land he’d never seen before. </p><p>But of course, none of that would be of any use at all if he couldn’t find a ship to take him there.</p><hr/><p>The next morning, Armin woke before the sun and walked down to the docks again, watching the new boats as they came in. All the hustle and bustle was more chaotic than even the day before, the port teeming with people going about their business. It was hard to make sense of it all, though Armin quite enjoyed being a part of it. After some rest, a good meal, and some self-encouragement, his spirits were higher than they had been the previous evening. Determined to trust in his own plan for once, Armin started the search. </p><p>The motivation quickly ran out. Armin was told rather rudely more than once to head back to where he came from, and still, he had absolutely no luck - not even with the Navy ships, which he’d decided to go after as well. One moment of hope came when he spoke to the captain of a ship headed for China, which would at least get him across the Pacific - but he was told in less-than-friendly terms that by no means would he be allowed on board. Facing rejection after rejection was quite exhausting. Every time he was told to look somewhere else, Armin felt his determination falter, and by noon he was again quite dejected, ready to give up and come back the next morning with his spirits anew. </p><p>Armin found a place to sit down and feel sorry for himself for a little while, thinking of his home and his grandfather, worrying that he was making a mistake by being so dead-set on making it to Japan. He’d always found adaptability something that was just out of his reach - he was too rigid, obsessed with sticking to his own plan as he doubted his judgement in the moment. When things didn’t work as he expected them to, it made him panic.</p><p>Just as he was about to give up for the day and go home, Armin looked up to see two strong-looking sailors walking directly over to him. Both men towered over him, and Armin tried not to panic - but what could they possibly want? Armin recognised their blue ties as different from the Naval ones and supposed they worked on a private boat. Was that good or bad? He didn’t know. Armin just held on tightly to his suitcase, hoping he might be able to persuade them not to hurt him. </p><p>“You look lost,” the shorter, burlier of the two sailors said. He had short blonde hair and arms that looked thicker than Armin’s thighs. Though he wasn’t as tall as his friend, he still dwarfed Armin. Despite his size, however,  and now that Armin really looked at him, he didn’t come across as intimidating - in fact, his expression was quite friendly, almost concerned like he was looking after a younger brother. It eased Armin’s nerves a little, but he didn’t let his guard down.</p><p>“In what sense?” Armin asked. He felt it would be hard to find a definition of the word ‘lost’ that didn’t apply to him at that moment. </p><p>“Like you haven’t the first clue what you’re doing here,” the blonde chuckled. </p><p>“Maybe we shouldn’t be disturbing him, Reiner,” the taller sailor said. He was shyer, it seemed - Armin recognised the way he stood with his hands clasped in front of him, as he did the same when he was nervous. </p><p>“Are we disturbing you?” the first man - Reiner - said. Armin paused for a second and thought it should be okay to talk to someone for a while. At least the pair didn’t seem to find him a nuisance as everyone else had over the past two days.</p><p>“No, not at all,” he sighed, standing up and running his hands through his long hair. </p><p>“That’s great, then,” the blonde sailor said, then stuck out his hand. “Reiner Braun.”</p><p>Armin shook his hand and felt like all the bones in his fingers were about to break. Reiner’s grip was crushing, and it didn’t even seem like he was aware of just how strong he was. </p><p>“Armin Arlert,” Armin replied, nursing his hand subtly when he pulled it back. </p><p>“Arlert, eh? Nice to meet you. It’s not often we get to make conversation with people off the ship. I like to make the most of it when we’re on land.”</p><p>“Good to meet you,” said the other man, and he held out his hand too. HIs handshake was a lot less intense. “I’m Bertholdt Hoover.”</p><p>He and Reiner looked close, Armin thought - he could tell by the way they stood next to each other, Bertholdt leaning a little into Reiner’s side. </p><p>“It’s good to meet you both, too,” Armin said, smiling nervously. This was the first time someone had spoken to him <em> nicely </em>in a while. It was quite a relief. </p><p>“What do you do?” Reiner asked. “You looking for work down here? You don’t look like a sailor.”</p><p>“I’m a cartographer,” Armin said, a little amused by the blank expression on Reiner’s face. “I make maps. And yes, I’m here for work.”</p><p>“That’s interesting,” Bertholdt said. He seemed to come out of his shell a little, though Armin was very much still in his. Despite the fine conversation, he was really missing his room. He gripped the handle of his case tightly and nodded. </p><p>“It’s stimulating work,” he agreed. </p><p>“Why does it bring you down here?” Reiner inquired. “Are you making a map of the docks?”</p><p>“No,” Armin said, shaking his head. “I’m looking for a boat headed to Asia, to try and find good work in Japan… you don’t happen to know of any, do you?” </p><p>Reiner gave Bertholdt a look that Armin couldn’t decipher, but in response, Bertholdt nodded. They were definitely close. </p><p>“It must be fate,” Reiner chuckled, clapping Armin on the shoulder so hard he nearly tumbled over. “We’re headed for Japan this afternoon.”</p><p>Armin just stared at them, wondering how on <em> earth </em> he’d gotten both so lucky and unlucky - after two days of searching, why had what he wanted just landed into his lap? </p><p>“You’re not joking with me, are you?” he asked. </p><p>“No,” Bertholdt confirmed. “You’ll have to work, though. We’re not a passenger ship.”</p><p>There was a pause. The port was still bustling with people, so if these two men were lying, and wanted to get him to follow them towards some shady destination where they would rob him, he was sure he’d have enough time to escape into the crowd before they could. He’d take the risk; it seemed like the best thing to do. </p><p>“Can you take me there? I’d like to speak to your captain,” Armin said. </p><p>“We were just about to return,” Reiner said. “Follow us.”</p><p>Having to walk twice as fast just to keep up, Armin was out of breath as he followed Bertholdt and Reiner. The three of them made their way down towards the docks, and Armin felt much more secure when he saw they really were leading him towards and not off to some back alley, but even still he kept a tight grip on his suitcase. </p><p>“You’re really headed for Japan?” he asked curiously. “How long will the journey take? Have you made it before? Are you a cargo ship?”</p><p>“Stick to one question,” Reiner laughed, and only when he turned around did he see just how much Armin was struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Sorry. But yes, we’re headed for Japan, and we are a cargo ship. We’re taking railway materials.”</p><p>“I heard about the railways being built there,” Armin nodded, a little out of breath. It seems like a true period of change is taking place as we breathe.”</p><p>“Whole world’s changing,” Reiner said. </p><p>“As for the journey,” Bertholdt added, answering Armin’s other question, “there’s no way of being sure, as we haven’t made it before, but Captain said it might take around two months.”</p><p>Armin took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. Two months might not seem like a long time, but trapped on a boat, he was certainly sure it would feel that way… </p><p>“Thank you,” he said, and bit his lip. </p><p>“It’s not too late to back out!” Reiner laughed, clapping him on the back again, almost knocking Armin’s suitcase out of his hand. </p><p>“I want to talk about it with your captain, first,” he said. Despite his desperation, Armin wanted to at least have the most basic information before making a decision, especially since he’d have to make it quickly and with a forced commitment to whatever he chose. </p><p>“Right this way, then,” Reiner said, gesturing down a set of stone steps that led right into the water. At the bottom, there was a small, wooden rowing boat that barely looked big enough to fit the three of them inside. </p><p>“Will that be alright?” Armin asked nervously. </p><p>“Of course it will!” Reiner laughed. “If you’re scared of a little rowboat, maybe a ship isn’t the best place for you.”</p><p>Not wanting to appear weak, Armin stepped in after Reiner and Bertholdt, feeling the boat dip under his weight, and sat down, wobbling and unsteady. He tried not to think about falling in, especially since he’d never been able to swim. </p><p>“Do you get seasick?” Bertholdt asked as Reiner took the job of rowing them to the ship. </p><p>“I suppose I’ll find out,” Armin murmured, feeling the strange sensation of crossing the water. “This is my first time in a boat…”</p><p>“Let’s hope for your sake that you don’t suffer from nausea, then,” Reiner said. “It’ll render you useless, it’s awful until you get used to it.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Armin murmured.</p><p>When they arrived at the ship, its sailors peered over the edge of the deck, apparently eager to discover who he was. As dozens of curious eyes looked down at him, Armin felt the weight of his choice, knowing that once he climbed aboard there would be no turning back. </p><p>The intense gaze of one man was stronger than all the rest, somehow - Armin had no idea how it was possible, but when he looked up and met his stare, his stomach twisted up and he felt twice as sick. The sailor was tall, with sandy hair and narrow eyes - suddenly, Armin realised he’d already met him. He was the man from the day before, the one who had rudely dismissed him in favour of staring out at the ocean, the one who had told him he knew of not one boat heading to his destination. He recognised that hostility, he could <em> feel </em> it. He couldn’t make out much more from the boat below, but still, they looked at one another - at least until a very loud voice snapped Armin out of his trance. </p><p>“It is about time you two returned!” </p><p>From just a glance, Armin could tell that this was the captain. They were a tall, slender person, quite unusual-looking, with long, chestnut hair tied back behind their hat and an eyepatch secured over their left eye behind their glasses. Seeming to speak with a smile, their presence certainly wasn’t as intimidating as the man’s beside them - presumably the first mate. He was short with dark hair and a stern glare that pierced Armin like a dagger, but even still didn’t feel as intense as that look from the man he recognised from the docks. </p><p>“Apologies, Captain Zoe!” Reiner called, his booming voice making Armin flinch. “We found someone ashore who wants to make the journey with us!”</p><p>“I can clearly see,” they replied. “And who might he be?”</p><p>“Introduce yourself,” Bertholdt said, giving Armin an encouraging look. </p><p>Armin stared up at all of the sailors peering down at him, expecting an answer, and suddenly felt very sick. Never in his life had he enjoyed being looked at, especially when having to <em> speak, </em> and he was almost tempted to jump right out of the small rowboat and swim back to shore where he could go back to his boring but <em> secure </em>life, living in his old home, making maps and dreaming safely while looking out the window at the familiar view. </p><p>He turned for a second, then, looking out at the water rather than the faces of the men, and saw its endless blue stretching out into the distance, opportunity and adventure waiting beyond the horizon. It made his heart race - he couldn’t ignore it, and like a calling, his grandfather’s last words came back to Armin as strong as they always did when he was doubtful, as if the man was still alive and cheering him on</p><p>
  <em> Do not waste your time on this earth by restricting yourself to just one part of it.  </em>
</p><p>Despite all his fears, as Armin looked up at the captain, he was certain. </p><p>“My name is Armin Arlert!” he called, voice wavering just once. “I’m a cartographer looking for passage to Japan!” </p><p>“Are you a hard worker?” the captain called. Their voice was clear and loud enough to carry over to Armin easily. </p><p>“I am!” Armin replied, having to shout a lot louder. He wasn’t used to being so assertive about himself, but now he was sure, there was no way he was going to let this opportunity slip between his fingers - he would have said anything. </p><p>“And are you a quick learner?” </p><p>“I am!” Armin called again. That, at least, was something he was sure of. </p><p>“Then climb aboard!” called the Captain, “and join the ranks of Ship Sina.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Berner!” Captain Zoe called, waving over to a man standing a ways off from them. “Pull the boat up, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man named Berner must be the steward, Armin thought, based on his clothing - before embarking, he had studied the ranks on board various ships, wanting to be sure he didn’t act disrespectfully in any manner. The steward’s job, he knew, was to assist the captain with whatever they needed. Ropes were thrown down, Reiner and Bertholdt attached them both to metal rings on each end of the rowing boat, and then they were lifted into the air by a pulley mechanism. Armin had never felt so weightless, so unsteady - it was as if he was standing at the very edge of a cliff, only now there was no ground beneath his feet. Clinging to his suitcase, he felt nausea stirring in his stomach, a bad omen. But there was no turning back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Armin had both feet on the deck the situation felt all the more surreal. There was a strange feeling in his legs as the boat gently moved on the water, one that made Armin feel as if he were about to fall over. He looked back to the docks for one brief moment and saw the whole view of the city at work, all the hustle and bustle and chaos and land, everything he had ever known. In the other direction, there was nothing but the vast blue of the ocean, the thin line where the sea met the sky, and all the uncertainty of a life not yet lived, one he would have to discover by swallowing his fear and sailing into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain approached Armin, holding out their hand. Armin took it, bracing himself for yet another handshake that would crush his fingers, but their grip was thankfully just firm and not too strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain Hange Zoe,” they said, introducing themselves again, while the ship’s sailors looked on. Some were up on the rigging, perched on the ropes, while others stood on the deck. No doubt there were men below, too. Armin kept his focus on the captain, but it was as if he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sailors assessing him. Whether it was a part of his imagination or not, Armin felt horribly seen - so much so that he didn’t want to speak, even though he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin Arlert,” he said again, embarrassed by his own uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome aboard,” they said with a smile. “Now. Please know I’d love to fill you in on your duties here as I do with the rest of the crew - I find that very important - but time is short and we’re setting sail very soon! You really were lucky, you know, much longer and you would have had to find another ship, and I can’t imagine any young man wanting to sail on any vessel but this one. But, yes, your duties. Your bunkmate will be able to help you with everything you need to know. It won’t be easy, but you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Captain,” Armin said, trying not to think about how worried he was. This would be fine - it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be. Two months. That was how long Bertholdt had estimated that the journey would take. He had waited his whole life for this adventure, and he only had to endure those two months until he could finally begin his life anew. Perhaps they would be difficult, but they would pass nonetheless. And it wasn’t as if things were completely hopeless - at the very least he knew two kind men aboard and he could stick to them if he were lucky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kirstein,” Captain Zoe said, turning behind themselves to address one of their men. “Can I trust you to supervise and instruct our newest sailor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Armin’s horror, the man who spoke next was the same sailor who had so rudely dismissed him the day before - the same sailor who stared at him from above, whose intense glare had sent shivers down Armin’s spine, the man with the sharp eyes and sandy brown hair. Their eyes, just for a second, met again - instantly, Armin felt both his heartbeat and nausea increase tenfold as if the ship was traversing through a storm rather than docked safely at port. Armin didn’t understand what he could have done to incite such disdain from someone he’d barely spoken to, but it was written clear as day upon his face that he didn’t like Armin at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain, I think it would be better if-” the man started, but he was cut off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense!” the captain exclaimed. “You want to man your own ship someday, don’t you? Then this will be good practise for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch your tongue,” snapped the first mate, the short man with dark hair. It was clear the men were afraid of him, as the sailor seemed to recoil when he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Armin could hear Reiner snickering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arlert, this is Jean Kirstein. As your captain, I trust in him to show you aptly how my crew keeps this ship sailing smoothly. If you have questions, direct them to him. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect!” they exclaimed, then clapped once, and smiled joyfully before addressing the entire ship’s crew with a booming voice. “An hour more at port, then we’ll prepare to set sail!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Captain!” the crew shouted back, though neither Armin nor Jean said a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another excruciating moment passed as the ship sprang back into action but Jean stayed still, watching Armin intensely until finally, he walked towards him. Unlike everyone else Armin had met that day, Jean did not shake his hand - for which he was grateful, because certainly if he had, his hand would be sore for the next week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me,” Jean said, lacking in any of the friendliness he’d been shown by Bertholdt and Reiner. Armin searched for them as he followed behind Jean, and saw the pair talking to the first mate. Reiner shot him an apologetic look as if he were sorry Armin had to go with Jean, and Armin gave a small wave back, smiling, trying to reassure both Reiner and himself that this would be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the deck, there were three hatches that led down into the ship’s belly. It was quite a struggle to climb down the ladder with his suitcase, but he managed after some difficulty. Jean didn’t offer any help - he just watched, and seemed both amused and annoyed by him. Armin found himself beginning to dislike him quite a lot, even though they’d hardly spoken. He considered himself a good judge of character, and it was easy to tell that Jean wasn’t a kind man, nor was he a patient one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally,” he muttered. “You’ll have to get used to climbing around here. Weak people don’t last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stung. Armin hated having to rely on anything but his mind - unlike his brain, Armin’s body tired quickly and had little strength. Becoming smarter was a lot less tiring than becoming stronger, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bear that in mind,” was all he said, though. Being rude in return would not do him any favours. Putting his personal feelings aside would be worth it if it meant Jean didn’t leave him to fend for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Below deck, the ship was claustrophobic, with ceilings that were low even for Armin’s short frame, and narrow passages leading this way and that. From what he could tell the closed-off rooms were exceedingly small, and there were many of them. Jean led him from one end to the other, giving off-hand comments about what each area was - the bunks, where they ate, where they washed, and the places that were off-limits like the pantry and infirmary. Armin made internal notes about it all, though at the forefront of his mind was his own discomfort and queasiness. The fact that this would be his </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the next two months hadn’t yet sunk in, even as Jean led him to one of the tiny rooms and they both stepped inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was barely wide enough to fit both of them in. There was one small, circular window that looked out to the sea, two hammocks, and two wooden chests which each had their own locks. Jean sat down on one of the chests, looking thoroughly annoyed, and took off his hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realise there would be separate rooms,” Armin commented, having expected that all the sailors would sleep together in a single space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to have this one for myself,” Jean muttered. “Keep your things in your suitcase. I use both of the chests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Armin murmured. “I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And don’t expect me to coddle you, either. If you can’t adapt, you don’t deserve to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can adapt,” Armin insisted defensively. Even if he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>sure, he didn’t like the way Jean assumed without any evidence that he was utterly useless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never even stepped foot on a boat before, have you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely that was true for you once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in my memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin set his suitcase down. Jean’s utter dismissal of him was incredibly frustrating, especially as he hadn’t been given a single chance to prove himself yet. The child in him wanted to cry, but he held himself back. It seemed that would be giving Jean what he wanted, or at the very least, be proving him right. Being smart about the situation would give him an advantage - Armin always thought before acting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will my duties be?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean sighed as if even just hearing Armin speak was bothersome. The thought occurred to Armin that these two months might be the longest of his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are two groups of sailors, the larboard and the starboard. One’s led by the first mate and the other by the second mate. You’ll be part of the larboard with me,” Jean muttered. “We were short a man before you got here. Time on deck during the night is four hours on, four hours off, split up into three shifts. The group that ends up with two shifts alternates every night. Do you get it? I’m not going to repeat myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Armin said. He got it, alright, but by no means was it going to be easy. Working through the night… he wasn’t looking forward to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. All hands are on deck from midday to four in the afternoon, and then it’s free time until eight in the evening when the watches start. Sundays are for rest, too, besides what work is necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what does the work entail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin swallowed. The more Jean spoke, the more he disliked him. What made him so awfully stubborn? Was life onboard so harsh as to make a man as rude as Jean? Still, Armin had questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many of us are in the larboard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eight, including the first mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough. Go and talk to the steward and get your uniform,” Jean interrupted.  Armin let out a little frustrated huff, but he turned to do so, figuring he’d have to find the steward by himself - and then, Jean interrupted him </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Armin wanted to snap, but he spoke softly, restraining himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just then that Armin really looked at Jean’s face. His traitorous body reacted, noticing his handsomeness, the sharpness of his jaw and the way those eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>stared </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. He had a scar over one eyebrow, and another by the corner of his lip which tugged his scowl down slightly more on one side. His brows were full and dark and stayed furrowed, only furthering his intensity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>tall. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Almost a whole head taller than Armin, and by the way he stood, he knew that very well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Armin asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you notice things on this ship,” Jean said, his deep voice slow and deliberate, “that you find strange, or that you wouldn’t expect to see on land, I’d advise you keep your mouth shut. Because if you cause trouble for anyone, or treat them wrongly for who they are, I won’t hesitate to throw you overboard myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin paused, truly flummoxed. He had no idea what that could possibly mean, but despite his burning curiosity, he didn’t feel it was a wise idea to question him. His heart was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pounding, </span>
  </em>
  <span>stomach in knots, and for a few moments - ones that stretched on forever like the ocean out the porthole behind them - they just looked at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get my uniform,” Armin said quietly, then nodded and left, shutting the door behind him, barely able to catch his breath.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was too big. Armin had to roll up his sleeves and the bottoms of his trousers just so they didn’t drag on the floor when he walked. With the white shirt and blue necktie, he felt silly, like a child playing dress-up - it reminded him of when he’d pretend to be an adventurer exploring the world just like his parents. Before his grandfather went blind, Armin would put on little shows for him, dreaming of this very moment. He wasn’t a child anymore, but it still felt like he was pretending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, he assured himself, that was because it hadn’t quite sunk in yet - but one glance from Jean when made him feel as small as his eight-year-old self again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to fix that,” Jean said. “Go and get a needle and thread and sort out your uniform before the first mate sees you and I take the blame.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin resisted the urge to tell him he needed to fix his manners. Kneeling down, he opened his suitcase, wondering how on earth he was going to fit in his spare set of clothes when he had already filled it close to bursting with all the things he couldn’t bear to leave behind. He folded his spare clothes and wished he had access to the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you listening to me?” Jean went on, peering over Armin’s shoulder into his luggage. “Why do you have so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>books?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The case shut with a slam. Armin didn’t mean to lash out, but that disdain struck a nerve with him, and his body reacted before his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said shakily, wondering if Jean would hit him, tensing up, the old reactions to years of bullying coming back to protect him. The silence was so thick that Armin didn’t even dare to breathe, and just as it became unbearable, Jean spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go and fix your uniform,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin didn’t need to be told twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to make sense of both Jean and the chaos below deck, Armin took a moment to breathe, organising his thoughts as he leaned against the other side of the wooden door to his cabin. There was no time to try and rationalise the irrational - Jean’s behaviour seemed to be a mystery because he wanted it to be, and Armin wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting all torn up over it when there were things to be done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on the way back to see Berner, the steward, when a short blonde woman grabbed his attention, poking him twice on the shoulder. She had big eyes and hair tied back under her cap, and her expression was kind enough that Armin felt relief wash over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” he asked her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I think I can help you,” she replied, pointing to his rolled-up sleeves. “You’ll get in trouble looking like that, it’s not safe. You could fall off the rigging. Want me to sew them up for you? I had to do it myself when I joined, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin looked down at her uniform and saw the neatly stitched sleeves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be wonderful if you could,” he said, and then awkwardly realised he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arlert, I know,” she interrupted, grinning as she shook his hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone of her size. “I’m Historia Reiss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to meet you,” Armin said. It really was - knowing there were at least three friendly faces on board was his only solace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too,” she said, then took him by the sleeve and led him to one of the other small cabins, just a few down from the one he shared with Jean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one was just as cramped as the rest and identical in every way besides the mess on one of the hammocks. On one of the chests sat a tall, freckled woman, shuffling a pack of cards - she barely raised an eyebrow when Historia brought Armin in, and the small amount of worry Armin had managed to swallow came rising back up his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the new boy,” the woman said, not looking up from her cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ymir, be nice to him,” Historia scolded, though she did it with a bit of a grin. “He has to bunk with Jean, he’s suffered enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ymir snorted. “Fair. How was he, Arlert? Did he snap at you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did,” Armin replied as Historia fussed over him, sitting him down and taking off his jacket to sew those sleeves first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t pay him any attention, he’s an ass,” Ymir said. “Just because he’s been on this ship longer than even the first mate, he thinks he owns it. He’s got no more rank than the rest of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you have questions, just ask us,” Historia told him. “Though we’re not on the same watch if you’re with Jean, we’ll see you at mealtimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, really,” Armin said. “I just hope the journey will pass by quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What takes you to Japan, anyway?” Ymir asked. She had put down her pack of cards, and was looking at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised. “You’re a cartographer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I make maps,” Armin said. “I plan on finding work there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strange. Did you not have any here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, but… it wasn’t fulfilling, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Ymir said, “I wish you luck, then.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Historia was a quick seamstress, and just twenty minutes passed before she was done. Armin redressed in his uniform - which was still a little baggy, but at least taken in enough at the waist and the correct length for his arms and legs, so he didn’t look ridiculous. He left his second set of clothes with her, promised some of his rations in return for her help - something Ymir seemed more than a little excited about - and thanked her over and over before regretfully heading back to his cabin to tell Jean that he was suitably dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could make it there, a shout from above stopped him and all the other sailors in their tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All hands on deck!” came the voice of the first mate, loud enough to make Armin’s ears hurt. That included him, there was no doubt, so he followed the rest of the sailors, climbing back up the ladder and out into the bright afternoon, blinded by the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, the entire ship’s crew was there, and Armin found his place beside Jean, who gave him a cursory glance and then a brief nod - seemingly the extent of his approval. It was better than being snapped at, that was definite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the ship’s helm stood Captain Zoe, grinning gleefully down at their crew, looking over all the sailors like a parent proud of their children. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are due to set sail!” they cried, quite unceremoniously, not at all similar to the captains Armin had read about before leaving home. “We shall work hard, drink plenty, and let the wind carry us eastwards!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sailors cheered - Armin felt as if he ought to be joining in, but he kept his mouth shut, and stared past the captain out at the open ocean, even as he felt Jean’s gaze fix on him again. It was truly beginning, this limbo between his old and new lives - two months of uncertainty, and he could finally say goodbye to who he once was and start again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing it, Grandfather,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes, blinking them back before they could fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Captain Zoe instructed those already on the rigging to climb up and unfurl the sails, and Armin watched with fascination as they scaled the ropes like there was no danger at all - it seemed effortless, and Armin was in awe of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sails were magnificent, billowing out with a gust of wind, full enough to cast shadows over the deck, and as the ship began its journey from the docks. Armin found himself yearning to be up there at the very top of the mast, clinging on to see the world from the wind’s point of view. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As the port grew smaller and smaller behind them, Armin was enraptured, completely taken by the wonder of the ship he stood on and the ocean that sprawled out ahead. The boat was like its own lifeform, the sailors part of it, dangling from the masts and rigging to direct the sails. The wind was blowing favourably, from what Armin could tell, breathing life into the sails and propelling them all forwards. Peering over the edge, Armin watched the ship cutting through the water. Behind them, the sun cast long beams of light on the waves, tinting their tips a bright white like the water was dancing. Despite shivering a little when he thought about falling overboard, Armin was enthralled, leaning a little further over the edge to try and get a better view - but was suddenly yanked backwards by the back of his shirt and found himself staring up at Jean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get back from there,” he snapped, glaring darkly. Armin felt a chill down his spine, the sensation of an impending storm. He was bright red in the face - was it from anger? “Are you stupid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was under the impression I’d be doing you a favour if I fell,” Armin said. He was put off by having his spell broken - annoyed, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you would not,” Jean said. “What were you even doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’ve looked enough. We have work to do, I hope you’re aware.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin held back his sigh and nodded. It wouldn’t do him any good to make Jean dislike him any more than he already did, though from the way he spoke it seemed like that wasn’t possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will we be doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I spoke to the captain,” Jean told him. “They told me we’ll both be excused from usual duties while I teach you the basics.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, Armin saw Reiner and Bertholdt on the opposite end of the deck, deep in laughter and conversation as they worked. He wished he was with them instead of Jean, having a good, easy-going time instead of having to watch his every move and word, constantly worrying that he was going to incite even more anger from his bunkmate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean was looking at him, and Armin couldn’t breathe as he took his arm, inspecting his sleeve closely. He was certainly not at all that shy about reaching out to touch him like it was nothing - Armin wasn’t used to that at all, and found himself feeling more than a little nervous to have another man’s hands on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they okay?” he asked nervously. “Historia helped me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that. They should be fine. Won’t catch on the rigging, at least… come on. We’re going to climb it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Armin asked, pulling back with wide eyes. He looked up at the ropes, thinking there was no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>he would be able to make it up without falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t question me,” Jean replied. “You agreed to board this ship; you will perform its duties. Now come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But - what if I fall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, and you won’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I lose my grip?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’d best hope you land on the deck and don’t break too many bones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin swallowed. He wanted to protest - how could he be expected to put himself in such danger? - but he</span>
  <em>
    <span> had</span>
  </em>
  <span> agreed to the terms. He had boarded this ship with the knowledge that he would be expected to act like a sailor, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> a sailor, and he couldn’t just hide away now because he was scared. He swallowed. What would his grandfather say? No doubt, he’d tell him to act like his mother - fearless until the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ready,” Armin said. He hoped that feigning confidence would eventually lead to convincing himself. Jean raised an eyebrow at him; Armin had no idea what it meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t catch you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t need you to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then come here,” Jean said, walking to the side of the deck where the rigging started and led to the masts, then hopped up, gripping onto the ropes easily. Armin felt his legs starting to shake. Looking down on the world from above… it was something he knew would be beautiful, yet being up there, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tall </span>
  </em>
  <span>- it was terrifying. “Your turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin held his breath as he reached up, focusing intensely, trying to figure out the best way to make it up while minimising the risk of falling. For Jean, it seemed as natural as breathing, like the rigging was a second home. He trusted his movement implicitly - Armin watched Jean’s strong hands reach out to grip the ropes without even looking, certain that when he clasped his fingers there would be something to grasp. Armin couldn’t help but find it marvellous - Jean’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ease</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the natural movements of his body, those strong arms of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were nothing alike. As soon as Armin’s feet left the ground he felt like a flightless bird in the air, completely out of his element. While Jean was comfortable to the point of indifference, Armin was terrified yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilled,</span>
  </em>
  <span> clinging onto the ropes with the excitement and fear of a young child like he was taking his first steps. It wasn’t like climbing a ladder as there was no steadiness at all - the rigging shifted and swayed with the ship. It was all he could do to reach up and grasp the next rope, and after that Armin couldn’t force his body to move at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Jean called down, standing on the small platform halfway up the main mast. His pose, his ease - Jean looked like a painting up there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s difficult!” Armin replied. He could feel the eyes of the other sailors on him, watching, no doubt judging him for his lack of ability. Jean was right - Armin didn’t belong on the ship at all, but even still he could only hope that Captain Hange wouldn’t see his inability and turn the ship back around to take him back to port. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear of that happening motivated him enough to bring his second hand up a few rungs, but it was like his legs were frozen. He had barely left the ground at all, but looking down, the ocean looked less like a guiding hand and more like a mouth that was ready to swallow him at the first mistake, hungry and merciless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop looking down,” Jean called again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how else will I know where to put my feet?” Armin asked. He could hear in his own voice just how humiliatingly afraid he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel with them first. You have to trust the ropes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>moving!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then move with them!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin wanted to ask what on earth that meant, but bit his tongue and tried to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span> with it, wanting desperately to adapt even though he struggled with it so much. He took a deep breath and looked up again, wanting to climb the ropes, trying hard not to think about the bottomless depths of the ocean below. He lifted his left leg, his stomach twisting with nerves, and gingerly felt out for the next rung upwards, breathing a nervous sigh of relief when he made contact and slowly started to make his way up the rigging. What little progress he made was suddenly halted when the boat dipped and the rigging swayed violently. Armin cried out, making the mistake of looking down and seeing the wave roll beneath the ship, and felt his stomach turn with fear, knowing that one slip up would result in him either hitting the ship deck or plummeting into the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t - I can’t go any further!” Armin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do?” Jean replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I don’t know, I - I think I’m going to fall!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that simple!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is. Not falling is your only option. You just need to keep holding on, and then move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin wanted to cry, but he held it back. Every challenge he’d faced until then was something he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>solve,</span>
  </em>
  <span> something that had a concrete answer, a solution. Being forced to rely on his body felt wrong; there was no reason to it. The rigging stretched on upwards, the criss-cross pattern of ropes leading to the platform he needed to reach. Jean was waiting there, and Armin knew he was frustrated by his incompetence, but couldn’t Jean see he was trying as hard as he could? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands moved. Then his legs, and he was climbing, looking at the platform as it grew closer. As Jean said, climbing was his only option - so he did, and eventually he felt a floor beneath his feet again. Clinging to the mast with his eyes squeezed tight shut, Armin fought the urge to throw up, his legs shaking violently. He didn’t dare look down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I was sure you’d fall,” Jean hummed from beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would let me do it if you were so certain? I thought you said that would be an inconvenience for you?” Armin replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as inconvenient as a sailor who can’t do their work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right… of course. How silly of me to think you had any regard for my life…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just open your eyes so I can show you the sails from here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course it wasn’t over. Trying not to think about how high up he was, Armin cracked his eyes open, intending to do as Jean said, but then he caught a glimpse of the view and everything else fell away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The port had completely disappeared from view. Not even the land was visible any longer - there was just endless blue in every direction, stretching out so far Armin was sure he could see the curve of the earth at the horizon. The sky above was so clear, so bright, so beautiful. Birds flew above, searching for fish that jumped from the water, diving down for their meal. It was strange to see the ocean without hearing the gentle washing of its waves against the shore. All that could be heard were the shouts from sailors and the seabirds, the wind in the sails, and the creaking of the ship’s old wooden bones as it rocked atop the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were going somewhere. The journey was underway, and Armin had made it over more than one hurdle. He’d proven to himself that what he thought was impossible was in fact not. The solid floor beneath his feet, the view from halfway up the mast, the triumph he felt - it proved himself wrong. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just don’t fall</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe he would say that to himself more often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beaming, Armin turned to Jean, about to exclaim about the sheer simplicity of the beauty and how much it meant, but the words on his tongue died when he saw Jean looking at him with an unreadable expression. Jean’s lips were slightly parted, brows furrowed, those piercing eyes staring right at him. The spell the view of the ocean had put Armin under was broken, and immediately, his legs reminded him just how high up he was. There was a sudden rush in his stomach, throat closing up, though Armin wasn’t sure the sensations were entirely from vertigo. What had Jean been thinking? It was impossible to tell as now his expression had turned back into that usual glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you finished staring?” Jean asked. “We have work to do, or you’ll never learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I - I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Now let’s get started.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was exhausting. Jean told him time and time again that the work they were doing was just simple training, but Armin could barely keep up. His arms and legs were aching from climbing up and down the rigging - Jean forced him over and over until he was satisfied by how quickly Armin was able to reach the small platform halfway up the middle mast. Though he snapped and complained, Jean wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> terrible - or perhaps, Armin thought, he was improving at not letting the sharp-eyed sailor get under his skin. He swallowed his nausea and the desire to ask questions, as his curiosity irritated Jean, and just went about memorising every single detail of his instructions. Armin might not have had the physical aptitude to perform every task he was assigned, but at least he would never forget a step or a method. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time dinner came around, Armin was so drained of energy that he could barely stand. The swaying of the ship under him was making his stomach churn, seasickness frothing in his gut, feeling like his insides were being pulled with the tide. He sat next to Jean at the long benches below deck, his meal of salted meat and potatoes so unappealing he had no problem parting with the half he’d promised to Historia. The smell of the hot food and alcohol passed around between the sailors only made his nausea worsen with each breath he took in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distraction was his only option. Armin observed the sailors, especially those he knew to be a part of the same watch as him. Reiner and Bertholdt were, thankfully - as was Ymir. Armin hadn’t met the other two yet, though - in his futile attempt to ignore the awful sickness he felt, he sat quietly and observed them, wanting to learn more about the people he would spend the next two months of his life with. The first was Marlowe. He was a tall, dark-haired man with an unfortunate haircut and serious nature which softened a little when he spoke about his wife and young son. Onyankopon was the second, much softer than Marlowe was, and he smiled twice as much. They shared the same worldview - when Onyankopon declared how excited he was to see what Japan would be like and what sort of people they might meet there, Armin knew he liked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all talked and sang amongst themselves, cheerful and excited to embark on a new journey. It was clear that they had all known each other for years, that they all considered this ship their home and its sailors their family. Ymir ate with one arm slung over Historia’s shoulders, and even kissed her on the cheek more than once, which made Armin turn away quickly, nervous that he was encroaching on something between them. Jean met his eye for just a second after that, so fast that Armin wasn’t sure if he imagined it. Reiner drank the most and sang the loudest, earning himself more than one swift slap across the back of the head from the first mate, none of which seemed to bother him in the slightest. Everyone was smiling - Armin wondered if that spirit would last all the way across the ocean, or if the sentiment onboard would sour the more time went on. He hoped at the very least that he wouldn’t experience a more disagreeable mood from Jean, but something told Armin that he hadn’t quite seen the worst of him yet. Looking to his right, he saw Jean glaring at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re not going to eat, give your food to someone else,” he snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can have it,” Armin groaned. “I feel sick…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean took Armin’s plate without a second thought, and Armin rested his head in his hands. Even with his eyes closed, it felt like the boat was spinning, going in circles, up and down and up again. The nausea was so bad that he had to keep his mouth shut firmly, terrified that he’d empty his stomach in front of everyone if he so much as breathed too deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin,” came a voice from across the table - Armin was pretty sure it was Reiner, but he felt so awful he couldn’t be certain. “You should really eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Armin muttered. “I’ll vomit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re seasick, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t last forever,” Bertholdt assured him. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long will that take?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It lasts a couple days for most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you’re unlucky,” Jean said from beside him, “I’ve known some men who never shake it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ship dipped, then, and Armin was suddenly out of his seat, heading blindly for the top deck. It took everything he had to hold it, but he knew there was no making it up the ladder, so he grabbed the bucket Onaynkopon thrust at him and emptied his stomach into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross,” Ymir murmured. “Go do it over the deck so you don’t make a mess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin heard her yelp as Historia elbowed her in the ribs, but everything was muffled as his head span. The others were arguing, he thought. Armin felt too awful to tell, his nausea somehow ringing in his ears. His throat was burning, chest too tight - and then he felt a hand on his back and he was being led up to the top deck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Reiner said. “The fresh air will do you some good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was somewhat right. Armin spent what felt like an hour over the side of the ship, having the worst time of his life. In his twenty-three years, he couldn’t once remember feeling as ill as he did then, but the salty air was at least better than the ship’s stuffy, cramped underbelly. He still felt awful when the worst of it was over. It was pitch dark outside, the clear sky guiding their way. The ocean was black and deep and Armin didn’t even want to think about it. Reiner was kind enough to give him some water with a slice of ginger and sit next to him while he caught his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Armin murmured. He was exhausted, but closing his eyes made him feel worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine,” Reiner replied. “Everyone goes through this in the beginning; you’ll get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty much. I was sick for days when I first boarded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin sighed. “I bet Jean never did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean talks a big game, but he’s no better than the rest of us,” Reiner chuckled, patting Armin on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell that to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, we all have,” he said. “Don’t worry - you’ll get used to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like the seasickness?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just like that,” Reiner laughed, and at least for a moment, Armin found himself able to smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to go on watch now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re on middle watch tonight,” Reiner said. “Midnight until four. So you’d better go get your rest while you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can,” Armin murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made their way back down into the belly of the ship. Dinner had been cleared away, and things were much quieter. Again, Armin wished he could bunk with Reiner or Bertholdt or really, anyone other than Jean, but he wasn’t so lucky, and eventually, he had to go back to their small cabin. Armin thanked Reiner and said goodbye, pausing for a second at the door before entering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean was in his hammock, facing the wall, but he rolled over when Armin came in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sick in here, you’ll be the one cleaning it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have anything left in my stomach,” Armin murmured. His hands ached as he unbuttoned his shirt - Armin was quite sure there was not a part of his body that didn’t hurt in some way. He wanted to curl up in his grandfather’s favourite armchair with a cup of tea, reading a book by candlelight, relaxed and content - but he was stuck on this boat for the first night of many. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot wait until this is over,” he murmured, untying his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you shouldn’t have boarded,” Jean snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin wanted to retort and say that perhaps he wouldn’t have been having such an awful time if he had a more agreeable mentor and bunkmate, but he held his tongue, too tired to argue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologise for being such an inconvenience to you,” he said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your apology doesn’t change anything. We’re up in four hours. Rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Armin sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if his day hadn’t been hard and exhausting enough, getting into the hammock was extremely difficult. Every time Armin tried to lift himself up into it, either his arms gave out or the hammock swung out of the way. It was so frustrating that when he heard Jean trying not to laugh, tears formed in his eyes and he wanted to go home. He really was acting like a child - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was - but everything was so overwhelmingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> that this one simple task he couldn’t achieve was breaking his spirit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your leg up first,” said Jean, surprising Armin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you helping me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re keeping me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean was right, though. Armin managed to get into the hammock by weighing it down with his leg first, and though it swung nauseatingly, it was such a relief to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Armin was asleep almost instantly, closing his eyes and drifting off with Jean’s gaze still pointed in his direction.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Despite passing out as soon as he lay down, Armin got perhaps the worst four hours of sleep of his entire life. He felt like he woke every few minutes, never quite slipping under after the first time. The swaying of the ship made his hammock swing in a horrible, nauseating counterrhythm, but Armin was too tired to do anything but lay there and focus on it, every horrible detail. After climbing the rigging over and over again at Jean’s demand, his bones hurt right down to the core, aching from the inside out. His mind was racing, alive with worry, stopping him from falling back asleep even though he so desperately wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet it felt like barely any time at all had passed before a bell was ringing and it was their turn to rise to the deck to take watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin could barely make his fingers work well enough to fasten the buttons of his shirt. Jean didn’t say a word to him, just waited, holding their lamp and looking irritated like he normally did. The orange light emanating from the flame cast shadows up Jean’s face. He had very angular cheekbones, Armin noticed. They suited him, he thought. It was fitting that such a sharp man would have a face to match. Neither of them spoke a word to the other as they followed the other men of the larboard up to the deck where they would spend the next four hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky and sea were so dark it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Armin was used to seeing the ocean lit up by port beside it, by tall lanterns that cast orange beams over the black waves. All they had to see by were the small oil burners they held in their hands, glowing dull, brightness swallowed by the night’s gaping mouth. The moon was barely glowing, half-obscured by grey clouds. Armin felt small. He wasn’t sure which frightened him more - the sky or the sea. The sky was so horribly open, nothing stretching on and on. It was a terrifying kind of emptiness, a fear completely opposite to the unknown depths of the ocean, where anything could lurk out of sight. Even the large ship with its billowing sails and imposing masts felt delicate and precarious atop the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was undeniably </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilling. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his nausea, exhaustion, and the cold bite of the incoming wind, Armin felt alive when he looked outwards. He’d never known himself to be the kind of person who chased after fear for excitement, but the endlessness of it all sparked something in him. There was no doubt that his parents had seen this view. Had his mother smiled the first time she saw the black ocean, or was she afraid?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end, Armin knew she must have been. But he wondered if she still found it beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Jean said from beside him. “Your job now is to stand and watch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>fall asleep, or you’ll topple off the edge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just standing and watching?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can ask the first mate to give you more work if you’ll be so bored,” Jean said dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s fine,” Armin replied, holding his hands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought so. Follow me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin did as Jean said, walking behind him to the edge of the ship. The waves of nausea in his stomach weren’t as strong as they had been the night before, but were still present and refusing to be ignored. All Armin could do was bear it, he supposed, and feel grateful he didn’t have to climb the swinging rigging over and over like the evening before. Not twelve hours had passed since Armin boarded the Sina, but the idea of solid ground beneath his feet was surreal. Armin took that as a sign - that it really meant something, signalling the closure of the life he left behind. He could only hope this steady in between was as kind to him as it could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first mate insisted that they weren’t to talk when on watch, but that was a rule poorly enforced when it was hard to hear much past the whistling of the wind and the old creaking ship. Everyone stood in pairs except for the first mate and Ymir who took opposite ends of the ship. Reiner was with Bertholdt, and Marlowe with Onyankopon - Armin wished he were with anyone other than Jean so he might join in with a conversation. Jean was frosty and cold and he stared out at the ocean like he was expecting to see anything other than water stretching for miles. Armin was so curious to know more about him, but he knew Jean would only tell him to shut up if he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A half-hour passed in silence. It was uncomfortable, but not truly awful. Armin was beginning to learn that silence was a good sign when it came to Jean - it meant he had nothing to complain at him about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regretting it yet?” Jean asked eventually, making Armin jump. Neither of them took their eyes off the ocean. Armin thought about his question, wondering what Jean wanted to hear. He couldn’t tell, so he thought he might as well be honest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he replied. “No, I’m not regretting it. If you mean boarding the ship, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what else I would have meant,” Jean said, sounding as unimpressed as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe the destination will be worth the journey, even if I spend every moment as seasick as I was last night.” Armin knew he was trying to convince himself of that more than Jean, but he was desperate for a way to tolerate this place. He was only on the first night of at </span>
  <em>
    <span>least </span>
  </em>
  <span>sixty, and all he had was his own force of will to make it through. “I just have to endure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is our way of life, you know,” Jean snapped. “This boat isn’t just some stain on a journey for us. So show the way we live some respect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin swallowed and just looked at Jean for a second, saw the dislike in his eyes and felt a wave of uncharacteristic anger surge in his own chest, too. What did it matter? Armin was just trying to adjust in his own way while Jean tried to make it as hard and miserable for him as he could. Why on earth did he expect him to hold reverence for this ship when the person showing him around it was so disrespectful, so rude? Of course he didn’t feel welcome. Jean had hated him from the moment their eyes met, even with their feet planted firmly on the ground, before a ship had been mentioned. He was told he didn’t belong, he’d been frightened and sick, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was only the nature of the sky and sea around him that kept Armin clinging on, and they truly were the only reasons he could imagine anyone would want to become a sailor for life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wouldn’t say any of that to Jean. It would do him no good to argue and protest over what was already done, and besides, Jean wouldn’t listen - he seemed to have already made up his mind about Armin, just as Armin had about him. Letting his feelings show would prove to be fruitless, so he held them back, took a breath, and tried to see things from Jean’s point of view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean didn’t say anything in return. Armin hadn’t expected him to.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Armin spent the next hours tired and nauseous, trying to focus on the watch. Every time he felt like he was about to fall asleep standing, a wave of sickness came over him so powerful that it woke him right back up. It was exhausting, and Armin dreaded having to do it over and over, every night until they arrived in Japan. By the time the first mate told them it was time to head back to their bunks for another few precious hours of sleep, Armin was ready to pass out for the next two days. Or, he thought, it would be wonderful if he could rest until they arrived on the shore of Japan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting into his hammock was even harder when he was half-asleep, and though Armin heard Jean laughing at him he didn’t let him see the tears of frustration that fell from his eyes as a result. It was pitiful, he thought, but at least he wasn’t giving Jean the satisfaction of seeing him cry, and that was all he could do.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>There was a small silver lining - Armin slept through the next three and a half hours without waking up once, giving him precious energy to fight through the next day with. It wasn’t enough, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Armin considered himself lucky to have any energy at all when he opened his eyes to the sound of the breakfast bell at seven-thirty. Just the morning before he had watched the sun rising behind rows of masts, surrounded by busy people and exotic goods and all manner of things. It felt like a year ago. Maybe he would be an old man by the time he arrived in Japan, he thought. Maybe he would have forgotten how to make maps at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At breakfast, food seemed just as unappealing to Armin as it had the night before. He stared down at his cup of black coffee and portion of dry biscuits, hoping they would stay in his stomach, and jumped when he heard someone say his name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your first watch, Armin?” Onyankopon asked with a friendly smile. He didn’t look tired at all - Armin was really in awe of him for being able to face the morning cheerfully and wished they were more alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It passed,” Armin said, offering a tired smile of his own. He ached. “It was quite exciting to see the ocean at night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get to see the sun rise and set as we’re on first and last watch tonight,” Onyankopon said. “Just wait; it’s really something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to it,” Armin said, surprised that he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Looking out at the ocean in all of its forms was the only thing that gave Armin any joy on this boat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get used to life here, you know,” said Marlowe. “I’m sure half the ship took it just as hard as you when they first came aboard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly,” Jean muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the table, Ymir rolled her eyes, and it made Armin laugh just a little bit, though he hid his smile behind his hand, not wanting Jean to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get tired of being so sour, Jean?” she asked. “Isn’t it boring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean glared at her, but Ymir wasn’t phased in the slightest, laughing it off. Armin wished he could be like that, but he’d always taken things too personally, cared too much about how he was perceived. Being teased for every quirk and interest of his when he was a child was damaging even fifteen years later. It wasn’t that Jean reminded him of his bullies - after all, he hadn’t outright attacked him - but the looks and comments made Armin feel like he was eight years old again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the complaints of his stomach, Armin managed to eat, hoping it would make him feel better in the long term. He didn’t like the taste of black coffee but he drank it anyway, knowing he’d be a fool to refuse anything that could give him the energy to make it through the day. As he picked slowly at his food, taking one small bite at a time, he listened to the crew as they talked about their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you think your wife is managing?” Onyankopon asked Marlowe. Armin glanced over, a little curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normally Hitch would still be sound asleep at this hour,” Marlowe said, “but I assume she’s up with the baby. I hope she’ll be alright…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be fine,” Historia agreed, yawning behind her hand. As she was on a separate watch to them, she must have not been able to sleep much at all, Armin realised. That would be him tomorrow - he dreaded it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She will. Don’t worry so much, have some faith in her! She already birthed him, didn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She did,” Marlowe said. “And she’s stronger than I am for getting through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right she is,” Ymir agreed. “So trust your wife. She’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you married, Armin?” Onyankopon asked, causing Armin to jump and turn bright red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marriage? He hadn’t even considered it. As far as he was concerned he was married to his work and had no need for romance - he knew he had nothing to offer to a woman and that there wasn’t much a woman could offer him, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not,” Armin said. “Are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Out of all of us, Marlowe is the only one who is,” Onyankopon said, smiling at his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I pity any sailor with a wife,” Reiner said. “How you stand being away from your lover for so long is beyond me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to him, Bertholdt turned slightly pink. Armin pretended not to notice as he felt Jean’s glare burning into him, and went back to his food. After all, it wasn’t his business.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Armin spent the morning on his knees, scrubbing the deck with soapy water. It was gruelling, tiring, and nauseating - especially as the first mate was so strict about the standard of cleanliness on board. His bucket kept spilling as the ship bobbed up and down atop the waves, his knees hurt, and his seasickness had hardly lessened at all, but Armin kept going - he wouldn’t be a burden. After all, he had told Captain Hange the day before that he was a hard worker, and he intended to keep that promise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other sailors sang as they worked. Onyankopon led each shanty with a huge smile on his face, his voice clear and carrying from one end of the ship to the other. The songs they sang told of adventure, of what awaited them on land, and asked for clear weather with strong winds. Even Jean joined in, Armin noticed. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>capable of smiling, it seemed, just not in his direction. Despite all the things the crew had to say about Jean, it was clear they all loved him in their own way, laughing and joking and poking fun. It made Armin feel terribly lonely. Was it his place to join in? He didn’t know the words, and he wasn’t much of a singer, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept quiet and did his work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even the view was solace. Sometime that morning the sky had turned light grey with clouds, tinting the ocean that same dull colour. There might be rain, Marlowe mentioned between songs, but that was nothing to worry about. The clouds weren’t thick or menacing enough to carry the threat of a storm but might bring stronger winds, which were always a blessing. Days spent bobbing atop the ocean with no wind to carry were the worst of all, Marlowe said. Armin silently prayed there would be nothing like that on their journey. He couldn’t stand the idea of this voyage lasting a single second longer than it needed to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The work was exhausting but it passed the time much faster than leaning over the side of the ship being sick - even being yelled at by the first mate was preferable to that. First Mate Ackerman was strict about the sailors’ conduct and the standard to which they worked. There was always work to be done, he said, even if that only entailed cleaning that which had been cleaned three times that day already. He was intimidating to say the least, and Armin hoped he would never be on his bad side. Even Jean obeyed him without question, which led Armin to believe he had definitely faced punishment from the first mate more than once. Knowing that Jean had been on board the ship longer than all the crew but Hange, Armin couldn’t imagine him taking kindly to new men with a higher rank than his own. Or perhaps, Armin thought, Jean was perfectly fine with them and just hated him specifically- that wouldn’t have been all too surprising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At lunch, Armin was able to eat a little more, and he listened to Onyankopon telling stories about life on board. They were tales that no doubt everyone knew the ending to or had even been a part of, but they still listened like enraptured schoolchildren. Onyankopon was so charming, Armin thought, and he had a way of telling stories that reminded him so much of his grandfather. It gave him some cheer to hear tales of seeing whales and dolphins swimming alongside the ship, of his accounts of the different kinds of people he had met and the cultures he got to experience. It kept Armin clinging on.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When it came time for the sailors to take their break before dinner and the first watch, their precious two hours of leisure, Armin headed straight for his cabin when everyone else sat atop the deck. He didn’t want to join in with their laughing and joking - he desperately needed some time alone. It had been a full day since he boarded the ship, now, and he wasn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to being accustomed to it yet. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Jean above deck, Armin sat down on one of the chests, becoming annoyed all over again that Jean wouldn’t let him use the one assigned to him. Sighing, he opened his suitcase and took a moment to breathe, smelling the scent of home rather than salty air and rum. Only it wasn’t home anymore - once again, he had to remind himself that while stuck in this purgatory, he had no home. Still, seeing his books was comforting. Armin took his oldest journal, the one he had used to document all of the stories his grandfather told him, both true and fantasy, and with difficulty climbed up into his hammock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly turning through the pages, Armin found himself getting emotional. Losing his grandfather was something he hadn’t recovered from yet - when it happened he hadn’t felt ready at all, though he supposed there never was a right time to lose somebody you dearly loved. The old stories gave him comfort, just as they had when first hearing them and all the times after that. He didn’t want to cry, but when Armin thought of never being able to tell his grandfather about the adventure he was embarking on, he couldn’t help but shed a few tears. More than anything, he hoped that his family would be proud of him for this. He would keep trying for them, even if none of them were there to see it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needed sleep came to him as he lay in his hammock reading. Armin drifted off like the gentle tide, still holding his book in his hands as above, the first drops of rain started to fall. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Waking up to darkness was always strange, but waking up and not being </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> was even stranger. After spending so much time in solitude, Armin found it hard to adjust to other people being around, especially when it was Jean who didn’t seem to care for him in the slightest. Armin opened his eyes to Jean shaking him awake and gave himself a few seconds to shake off his fatigue before looking at him. At least, he thought, he was an early riser and easy to wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean was holding a lantern in one hand and Armin’s journal in the other. Just the sight of his treasured possession in someone else’s hand was enough to make him panic to the point of falling out of the hammock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re awake,” Jean said, looking down at him. The lantern cast shadows up Jean’s face and made Armin feel small. He scrambled to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give that back,” he demanded, sounding like a child, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why should I?” Jean asked. Armin tried to grab it, but Jean held the book above his head out of his reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean laughed and Armin was five years old again, and his parents were gone, and he was being teased endlessly by the awful children in the village who took delight in hurting him and saying all kinds of nasty things to make him cry. Armin took a deep breath. Rationally, he knew he wasn’t there. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t in his village. He was on a boat away from all of them, just like his parents eighteen years before. He was on the way, he was making his grandfather proud. And there was no way he could break and give Jean what he wanted - to see him weak. Being rational and calm now was the best he could do.  Crying would come later, Armin was sure, if he ever got a moment of privacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it doesn’t belong to you,” Armin said, fighting to keep his voice calm, but it still wobbled. “And it’s important to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just curious,” Jean said, opening the book, and Armin felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It wasn’t fair that Jean got to read what was so personal to him. That was something he’d dreamed of </span>
  <em>
    <span>giving</span>
  </em>
  <span> someday, something he wanted to share, not be taken away by a person who didn’t care at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just… stop, please,” Armin said quietly. “It’s private.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Armin’s surprise, Jean actually did what he asked, and thrust the book back at him so hard that Armin staggered backwards when he took it. He had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his face, something unreadable that Armin felt a sudden desperation to decipher. It was almost like </span>
  <em>
    <span>shame, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but that was impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s time for dinner,” Jean said, turning away. The light held out in front of him made his figure a dark silhouette against the orange glow. “Then it’s first watch, so I suggest you hurry up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Armin breathed, holding his book close to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t notice how hard his heart was beating until Jean left.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The beautiful sunset that Onyankopon promised was obscured by thick, dark clouds. The wind was blowing hard behind them, propelling the ship to cut quickly through the water, and it brought the rain down with it at an angle that left Armin soaked through within just a few minutes. He and Jean climbed the rigging in the downpour, sitting on the platform on the middle of the mast to guide the sails. The others took the other platforms and fought with the rain to make sure the ship was going in the right direction. Looking out at the grey ocean was less than appealing, and made Armin feel even sicker than he already was, though its grandeur was still every bit intact. The waves were taller, stronger, and Armin found himself terrified of falling off or being sick on Jean. He didn’t know which would have a worse consequence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, they didn’t speak a word to each other beside Jean telling him what to do, and really, that was fine with Armin. While he would have loved to share stories with Onyankopon or Reiner or any of the others, silence with Jean was probably the best he could have asked for, especially considering their last conversation. Armin couldn’t stop thinking about how Jean had looked for the briefest of moments and found himself sneaking glances at him whenever possible, just to try and catch a glimpse of that same expression on his face. Jean didn’t seem bothered by the cold in the slightest. While Armin shivered and felt quite miserable in his wet clothes, Jean was no doubt entirely used to the way his white shirt clung to his chest. Armin couldn’t look at the outline of his body for more than a few seconds, but his eyes kept wandering there anyway. He chastised himself for it, but still, his gaze fell there as he wondered how long he’d been aboard to get quite so strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will this turn into a storm?” he asked breathlessly, hoping to distract his own mind a little. He could only pray Jean wouldn’t snap at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jean said, looking upwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The clouds are moving fast overhead,” he said. Armin looked up - so they were. He felt silly for not being able to tell that himself, and frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said, mumbling to himself a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Jean snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing!” Armin insisted. His heart began to race when Jean spoke to him like that, the sharp tone of his voice cutting right through him. “I was just… it just - I figured you were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You figured I was right? Of course I’m right. Do you think I’m stupid?” he continued, moving closer to Armin until he was towering over him. One rogue wave and he’d be off the edge, but Armin thought he’d take his chances. The way Jean looked at him was downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>murderous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’re stupid!” Armin exclaimed, shocked that Jean would suggest it - what kind of person did he take him for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> you don’t,” Jean spat. “With your </span>
  <em>
    <span>books</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreams</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and your hatred of this boat. Talk with the others all you want, but I can tell how you feel about us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Armin pleaded. “Whatever you think about me isn’t true. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And I know I don’t belong here, and it’s not easy, but I’m trying, and it seems that I’m doing so against your best wishes!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain poured down. Armin looked up at Jean, forcing himself not to break the intense eye contact, looking at the way he breathed heavily and how his hair stuck to his face, the slight surprise in his expression. Jean didn’t say a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m struggling,” Armin said, ashamed to be choking on his words, starting to cry. He was so tired and so exhausted that he couldn’t hold anything back anymore. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy and yet I was still naive to how hard it would be. I’m not like you. I’m weak, and this doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m… I promise I’m trying my hardest, and I - I know it is not good enough, but I don’t know what else to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Climb down,” Jean said. His face was stone cold; it didn’t look like he was feeling anything at all. “Go and watch with Ymir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not knowing what else to do, feeling like he was going to choke on all his emotions, Armin did. -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They did not speak to each other. Not when their watch ended and they changed out of their soaking clothes, having to waste precious hours of sleep by hanging them up to dry. Not as Armin struggled again to get into his hammock, not when they woke four hours later for their next watch, and not as they spent the morning watching the clouds turn from black to white as the sun rose behind them. The rain had stopped, just like Jean said it would - that was the only solace of the morning watch as Armin stood with Ymir, cold and exhausted and nauseous. Even at breakfast, he was miserable, not wanting to join in with the conversation at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the crew scrubbed and swabbed the decks during their first shift, the clouds hung low and thick in the sky, threatening rain at any moment. Armin knew better than to ask Jean how he thought the weather would change within the hour, and instead tried his hand at figuring it out himself with what basic knowledge he had. From what he deducted, he was half-sure it would be fine, and when the rain held off for another few hours he felt a little satisfied with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>During all of this Armin avoided everyone, especially Jean. The only person he seemed to be pleasing was First Mate Ackerman, who gave him a cursory nod when he saw the work he was doing in silence. Before lunch, he bathed then washed his clothes, then while he ate he stared down at his food and didn’t say a word. He couldn’t get Jean out of his mind. Why had he accused him of thinking such things about the crew? Had he somehow offended them? None of it made any sense to Armin’s poor, racing mind. When their free time came, he was sure to avoid Jean. It was clear neither of them wanted to look at the other, albeit for different reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Armin was about to escape below deck to spend some precious time alone, hiding in a book, pretending he was anywhere else, a voice called out to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin!” It was Reiner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner,” Armin said, forcing a smile. “Can I help you with anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help? No, not during our free time. Don’t look so worried - I was only going to ask if you wanted to have a game of chess with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chess?” Armin asked. He paused. As much as he wanted to hide away and cry alone where he couldn’t be bothered he was so fond of chess that he couldn’t turn Reiner’s offer down. “I’d - yes, honestly, I’d love to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great! Bertholdt just won a game against me, so you ought to play him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awfully nerve-wracking,” Armin murmured, adjusting his necktie and following behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something tells me you’ll do just fine,” Reiner chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led Armin over to where a group of sailors were sat on the deck, laughing and joking together around a chessboard. Armin felt nervous when he saw them all there, but at least Jean was somewhere else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to play, Armin?” Bertholdt asked, giving him a welcoming smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’d like,” Armin replied. “I haven’t had a game of chess in quite some time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try not to disappoint, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertholdt’s the champion of the larboard, I’ll have you know,” Reiner said, clapping Armin on the shoulder as he took a long swig of rum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner, that’s going too far!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you’re just too modest, Bert,” Reiner grinned, and Armin blushed as he took Bertholdt’s face in one of his large hands and stroked his cheeks. Everyone else seemed unbothered, but Armin felt like that was most certainly something he shouldn’t have seen. “Anyway, Armin, want a drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, thank you,” Armin replied, shaky as he sat down opposite Bertholdt. The pieces were already arranged, a very battered and old wooden set that looked like it had seen much use in its years. “I don’t need to get any more seasick than I already am…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A fair point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bertholdt was playing white, and Armin black, so he waited for Bertholdt to make the first move. Armin loved chess. It was strategic, based entirely on observing one’s opponent and judging what move they would make next - just the kind of thing Armin excelled at. He must have played thousands of rounds in his life, and won almost all - he only ever lost to his grandfather. Bertholdt played how Armin expected him to, reserved yet calculating, letting Armin take the lead. Armin was mindful to not underestimate him or let his arrogance get in the way of a good game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pieces were taken back and forth, and the sailors watched with interest as Armin pushed Bertholdt back into a corner after taking both a bishop and a rook in just three moves. Armin was entirely absorbed in the game, drowning out everything in order to focus intensely. If they were speaking much about it, he couldn’t tell. This was the most fun he’d had since getting on board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After twenty minutes Armin had won decisively much to the shock and excitement of everyone except Bertholdt, who seemed to have been expecting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was great fun,” Bertholdt said, holding out his hand for Armin to shake, and Armin did, smiling widely and agreeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for playing,” he beamed. He hadn’t expected to end up glad that he was spending time with the others instead of hiding alone, but he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It seemed that despite what he was trying to convince himself, not everything was doomed, and deep down there was a small spark of optimism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That happiness quickly turned to fear as the captain approached. Armin looked up at them as they came over, their one visible eye glinting with excitement, a spring in their step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hoover, have you been overthrown?” they asked, raising an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have, Captain - and quite decisively, at that,” Bertholdt chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then,” Captain Hange replied. “It is only fair I get to play a game, then, isn’t it? Arlert, were you the winner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin stared with wide, nervous eyes, nodding. “It must have been a fluke, Captain, I’m sure there is no need-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” they replied. “Come and sit, let’s play a game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they were serious, and the atmosphere shifted as Armin watched them sit down in front of him. He could feel eyes on him, a familiar gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning for just a second, Armin saw Jean watching him, his expression unreadable as always, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before Armin grit his jaw and looked at Captain Hange, who was setting up the chessboard with delight. He was tempted to refuse, to back down and say he couldn’t do it, but wouldn’t he be only proving Jean right if he isolated himself and refused to take part? No, he would play, and he would give it his all. Jean wouldn’t steal the first bit of fun he had on board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin studied the captain. They were obviously exceedingly intelligent - it was obvious just by their mannerisms and ability, and it seemed that they had an enthusiasm for chess that was on par with Armin’s. It would be a good game, there was no doubting that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How have you been finding your time aboard?” Captain Hange asked as they moved their first pawn. Armin struggled to not let his mind run away with itself when considering the possibilities of their next move. He tried not to let himself feel Jean’s gaze, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has been… to be perfectly honest, Captain, I have been finding it difficult,” Armin admitted. The captain smiled and Armin felt much more at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would be surprised if you were finding it easy. You’ll be just fine, though - and already doing well from what I hear. All I need from you is passion and hard work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope that will be enough,” Armin said quietly, thinking of Jean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re on the ocean now - it will have to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As easy as it would have been to begin worrying when Armin heard that, he focused all his attention on the chess game rather than his own fear. He had always been a defensive player but he found himself having to change his tactics when he saw the captain’s eccentric style of play. He found himself forced to think twice as much, but their bold, risky strategy left holes in their defence that Armin was quick to capitalise on. It really was fun - Armin hadn’t enjoyed a chess game like this since his grandfather was alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost an entire hour passed. They were both down to just a few pieces each before he finally cornered the captain’s king between a rook and his queen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Checkmate,” he said, almost surprised that he actually won. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Captain Hange jumped to their feet with a huge smile on their face and Armin followed suit, overwhelmed and surprised and shaking their hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a great game!” they said excitedly. “Oh, we’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to play again, or discuss strategy sometime!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… yes, it was great fun,” Armin breathed. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re quite the strategist!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an honour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very welcome,” they continued. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I ought to check the ship’s course…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned to silence, Armin watched them go, and at the same time saw Jean walking away from the small group and back to the rigging. He had stayed right there for the whole game? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must say, you surprised us all,” Reiner laughed, thrusting a drink at him, which Armin took, beaming. The alcohol didn’t taste great and it made Armin wince. “I didn’t expect Captain Hange to finally meet their match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it rude of me?” Armin asked, suddenly nervous again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it would have been rude to lose on purpose,” Bertholdt said. “Captain Hange doesn’t care for flattery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a relief,” Armin breathed. “I wouldn’t want to offend…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you didn’t,” Reiner said. “Where did you learn to play like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather,” Armin said. “He was an incredible chess player. I must have only beaten him once or twice in hundreds of matches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell us about him,” Onyankopon invited. “He sounds like an interesting man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He… he truly was. He was fascinating. He travelled the world when he was a young man, sailed over from Europe. He had so many stories to tell… I’m lucky to have heard them before he passed,” Armin said, grateful as he always was when thinking about his grandfather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he taught you to play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was a very young boy, yes. He was so skilled… in his later years, he turned blind and I cared for him. But even still we played chess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did he manage without being able to see?” Ymir asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would tell him each of my moves as I made them,” Armin explained. “He was able to memorise the entire board and visualise it in his mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He must have been a genius!” Reiner said. “How is that possible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Armin chuckled. “But he really was the best mentor I could have asked for. I’m incredibly lucky to have been raised by him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The stories he must have told!” Onyankopon smiled. “My grandmother was the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wrote them all down. I… I have them with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to hear a tale sometime,” Bertholdt said, and everyone agreed. Armin felt, for the first time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean took one of those books from me the other day,” Armin admitted. “I was a little embarrassed to have him know such… personal things when he was flipping through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean?” Ymir asked. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him reading it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ymir</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Historia said, giving her a harsh look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She means your secrets are safe,” Reiner said. “Jean can’t read. Don’t tell him you know - he gets defensive about it like you wouldn’t believe, and he’s difficult enough as it is. Even though most of us can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin blinked. For a second nothing made sense, and then suddenly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>did. Was that why he was so rude to him? Because he thought Armin would look </span>
  <em>
    <span>down </span>
  </em>
  <span>on him? He was wrong - Armin had nothing but admiration for Jean’s skill and prowess aboard the ship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he turned his nose down at his books yet had a strange fascination with them, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He makes a bigger fuss of it than it needs to be,” Ymir sighed. “I can’t, either. But who cares about that? We’re sailors! He’s been on the sea his whole life, he knows everything he needs to for the life he wants to live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just how long has he been aboard? His whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>life, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said?” Armin asked, his mind racing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of it. From what I know he’s been here since he was five or six years old.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… that young?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, though I don’t quite know why. That’s just what he mentioned to me,” Reiner said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea…” Armin breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s not gossip,” Historia said, looking quite annoyed at Ymir. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The topic of conversation changed and Armin found it much harder to pay attention when his mind was still racing from the revelation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, Jean was rude, and he wasn’t empathetic at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Armin, but he at least made a little more sense now, even if the reasons behind his actions didn’t quite excuse them. Turning around, Armin watched Jean up on the rigging, saw how naturally he sat atop the ropes looking out at sea, and wondered just how much more he had to learn about him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the slightly longer wait this time! i'm so glad i managed to finish this today because it's my birthday tomorrow and i wanted to take a day off djkfskj</p><p>please consider leaving a review if you enjoyed! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The days began to pass with a consistency Armin was almost comfortable with. The routine kept him from going crazy - whenever something was too hard, or too much, there was always an end in sight. He could be assured that within the next few hours there would be time to relax and let his aching bones rest, even if only for a little while. The shifts passed and the sun rose - they ate and worked and watched it set again. All the while the wind blew, pushing them across the ocean, easing them along on their journey. Armin was adjusting to life aboard, slowly but surely. He hadn’t expected it, but sure enough, his seasickness washed away and like the sun he rose consistently each morning. It got a little easier each day. The work was exhausting and it made him ache all over, but knowing he was a part of this small ecosystem left Armin with a sense of accomplishment when he finally got to lie down in his hammock and go to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things with Jean were the best Armin could have hoped for - they weren’t speaking. Jean woke up with him and ate next to him and told him his duties, but they barely said a word to each other. Over the three days since Armin won his chess game against Captain Hange the most contact they had were those moments in which Armin felt Jean’s cruel gaze on him from the other side of the ship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he still snapped at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One morning when spirits were particularly high, the crew were singing as they worked, shanties of land and good food and getting drunk. Reiner was the loudest of them all and completely off-key at all times to the amusement of the rest of the crew. Armin enjoyed how they never seemed to get angry at one another, Jean excepted, but even his moody temperament was treated fondly by the others. It was just Armin who didn’t belong - the crew liked him just fine, he hoped, but he wasn’t one of them and never would be. But still, Armin tried his best to fit in and listened to them sing. He found the lyrics quite amusing and sometimes found himself humming or whistling along- an enjoyment that was short-lived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” Jean snapped as Armin whistled along to an old whaling shanty. Surprised, Armin dropped the brush he was holding, not sure what Jean meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I doing something wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the cleaning, the whistling,” Jean said. It was the most he’d spoken to him in days. Armin felt a shiver run down his spine - he’d almost forgotten how deep and commanding Jean’s voice was. He made Armin feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… alright,” he said, not wanting to argue with Jean over things that didn’t really matter in the end. What was the use? Was Jean just trying to stop him from joining in with the rest of the crew? He let it go, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him that he was giving in too easily and not standing up for himself, just like when he was a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was tired, and he really didn’t want to argue. He would agree with Jean just for the ease of things, whether he was right or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll bring a storm,” Jean said, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whistling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sailors see it as a call to the wind. So stop it or they’ll all blame you when the weather turns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How peculiar,” Armin murmured, more to himself than to Jean. A call to the wind? Such a thing wasn’t possible, surely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’d say that,” Jean snapped. “But this isn’t your boat, so follow the rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a childish part of Armin that wanted to retort that as far as he was aware, this boat wasn’t Jean’s either - but he held his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies,” he mumbled instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just - it’s a superstition, yes, but I’ve been - it seems there’s a storm approaching regardless, so unless you want the blame placed on you, whistling is not a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a storm approaching?” Armin asked, hands gripping tight to the splintering wood of his scrubbing brush. “How can you tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it often did, Armin’s curiosity outweighed his fear - a trait that had no doubt gotten him onto his boat in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can taste it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin blinked, skeptical. “You… can taste it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jean snapped again. His voice was harsh but there was something in his eyes that made Armin pause. “You wouldn’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a week ago, Armin would have agreed and thought such a claim was ridiculous, dismissing it without a second thought - but after recent revelations, he took a moment to inflect inwards and question </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span> before brushing off what Jean had said. Who was he to debunk the claim of someone who was so clearly more experienced - who knew this ocean better than Armin knew land? It was… arrogant, he realised with a twinge of shame. The world wasn’t a</span>
  <em>
    <span> chessboard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it did no good to look at things in those terms of black and white. Just because he was the most intellectually qualified there was no good reason to assume he was the cleverest, especially atop the ocean. He had already learned far more than he expected to from Jean. Armin felt ashamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my place to question it,” he said quietly after a moment. “I won’t whistle again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Jean replied. Armin didn’t miss the way his brows pinched together in surprise. “Good.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>That evening, after dinner, Armin headed to his cabin to read and rest in preparation for middle watch, but before he could open the door, he was interrupted by Onyankopon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin,” he said, his smile as friendly as ever, “would you mind keeping me company for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin was a little surprised. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy - he liked Onyankopon - but he wasn’t yet used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanting to spend time with him, let alone someone he admired and looked up to. The constant company on board only served to remind Armin just how much time he spent in solitude before joining the Ship Sina’s ranks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to,” he replied, looking up at Onyankopon warmly. He had time - he was more acquainted with his schedule now and knew where to find the flexibility in it, so his books could stand to wait a little while. “Was there something you wanted to discuss?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, there is! I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me a little more about cartography - from what you’ve mentioned, it sounds quite fascinating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Armin asked. He was suddenly very excited. It had been a long time since he had last gotten to talk about his interests at length, and would never pass up the opportunity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as it wouldn’t take up too much of your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Armin smiled. “I’d love to. Shall we use your cabin…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Onyankopon said, leading Armin down the narrow passageway of doors to his room at the end, which he shared with Marlowe. “Bothering Jean wouldn’t do either of us any good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re certainly right about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having left dinner early, Marlowe was already inside when the two men entered. Sat atop his chest, he held a book, his expression as serious as ever as he studied the pages with intense concentration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marlowe,” Onyankopon said, “would we be bothering you if we had a conversation in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marlowe looked up and smiled when he saw Armin with him. It took Armin aback, still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. I still can’t make sense of this, anyway, so I wouldn’t mind the company, either,” he said, setting his book down. “Are you playing chess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin was kind enough to agree to tell me about his work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make maps, don’t you?” Marlowe turned, addressing Armin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Armin said. “Onyankopon was interested…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As am I!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin felt his cheeks warming up. He’d always been so attached to his interests that approval of them felt oddly like a compliment, and when Onyankopon smiled it made Armin want to smile, too. The thought struck Armin that he was definitely going to miss him when their journey came to an end, and that was strange - he hadn’t expected to miss a single thing about the ship besides its views of the ocean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy to help, then,” he said, his chest warm with approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them spent a good half hour discussing Armin’s line of work. Armin loved talking about maps - he found them fascinating in every aspect. Exploration was something he had always been interested in, ever since his parents had left him alone with his grandfather to go on their fateful adventure. A map, Armin told them, was the cumulation of the efforts and passion of many people, an invaluable tool. He explained the process, how explorers gathered data which was later passed to Armin to compile and organise from numbers into a complete map. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you make a map of this boat?” Marlowe asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… yes, I could,” Armin said, having not thought about it before. “I’d have to estimate the measurements, but I think it would be fairly simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You ought to! Just for fun. I’d like to see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I will,” Armin smiled. “On Sunday, perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked for a while longer, and Armin promised to show them both some of the maps he’d taken with him as proof of his ability to create them. After bidding them both goodnight, Armin reluctantly headed back to his cabin. The ship was rocking harder than it usually did at this hour, and Armin had to steady himself to keep from falling over. When he made it to his room, he paused when he heard people talking inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” said a voice. It was Reiner; Armin could tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why should I?” Jean replied, sounding just as annoyed as he always did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because if you’re so worried, you ought to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mention </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curious, Armin leaned a little closer, not wanting to give himself away, but desperate to hear what was being said. He had never been able to tear himself away from things he found interesting very well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I implied it well enough. And you and Bertholdt haven’t exactly been subtle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he seems fine, doesn’t he?” Reiner asked. It sounded like he was pleading with Jean about something, but what? Who was ‘he’ - were they talking about him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Captain wouldn’t -” Jean started, but then he stopped abruptly and got up, and Armin quickly realised that he might have been given away - taking a few paces back, he moved as if he were just coming down the passageway, and knocked on the door just before Jean opened it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, stretched out silence. The ship creaked under the force of the strong wind, and tilted slightly, making Armin wobble. He and Jean just looked at each other for a moment, Jean presumably scouring Armin’s face for signs that he had overheard the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Armin said eventually. “Did I interrupt something…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Reiner said, as Jean glared - he got up from the floor and clapped Jean heartily on the back, sending him stumbling forwards a step. “I was just heading back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean was still staring at him. Armin’s stomach was so tight he felt like he was going to be sick, but he held his ground and didn’t look away until Jean finally turned to say goodnight to Reiner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you for middle watch,” he said, nodding, and then Reiner was gone and they were alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Jean didn’t say a word to him.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Armin spent the rest of the evening lost in a book, sat cross-legged in one spot next to the chest he wasn’t allowed to use, travelling to far off lands without having to move at all save for the turning of the pages. Reading through his grandfather’s stories while the ship bobbed atop the waves stirred the remnants of his seasickness, but the slight nausea was more than worth it. There was something about reliving those youthful tales of adventure that always gave Armin a feeling of assurance, as if his relative was reminding him he was on the right path. He knew the ending to every story, knew every twist and turn, and it was comfortingly familiar, something to be sure of. Even knowing all that would happen, Armin was still so immersed that he didn’t think at all about the conversation he’d overheard or even notice that Jean gaze was fixed on him, watching with interest as he read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was raining, and the sound of each drop hitting the deck above was soothing even if Armin knew he would have to go and work in it for the darkest stretch of night. Armin didn’t hate the rain - there was something quite magical about feeling the sky open up above. If only it didn’t leave him cold and shivering afterwards, he would have quite liked for it to rain every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he knew he had to get to sleep or shudder from exhaustion during middle watch, Armin hopped with new ease into his hammock and pulled the blankets up to keep him warm through the rainy night. It was hard to get to sleep - with no distraction, he lay with his eyes open, facing Jean’s bunk. Though he couldn’t even make out his shape in the total darkness, he kept looking, wondering if perhaps Jean was doing the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What had he and Reiner been talking about? Reiner mentioned Jean being worried about something. Even though Armin was near desperate to find out what it was, he knew better than to ask what was wrong as Jean would surely only become worse to him if he knew his private conversation had been listened in on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes stretched by and felt like hours as the wind picked up and the rain came down in lashes. The old creaks and groans of the ship once kept Armin awake, but eventually, the now-familiar sounds were what eased him into a restful sleep.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Armin awoke a mere hour later to chaos and agony, flung from his hammock and across the cabin, landing hard on what he thought was the floor, but might indeed have been a wall - the ship was swaying too violently to tell, swinging hard in different directions. Armin only knew which way was up from the shouts and rain pelting down. The haze of sleep was short-lived. Armin tried desperately to scramble to his feet, his nails scratching into the old wood, breathing hard and fast, survival instincts taking over and telling him to run. He had to get to Jean, and then to the sailors above - but Armin could barely even hear their shouts over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>howling</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the wind so loud that it hurt his ears. But that was the least of his concern as the ship jolted fiercely again, throwing Armin across the room before he could catch his bearings, and he hit his head </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the corner of one of the chests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean!” he cried out, terrified, his voice hoarse. He could hear his panic like it was someone else’s. What was happening? Was the ship going to sink? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin raised his hand to his head and pulled it back sticky with blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Above!” came Jean’s voice like a light in the darkness. “We need to get above deck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s - what’s happening!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin felt a hand wrap around his wrist and pull him towards what must have been the door, which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>above</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Storm,” Jean said, his voice urgent yet without a trace of fear. It was no doubt, Armin thought suddenly - of course he wasn’t afraid. “Come on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the ship swayed again they tumbled out of the door and into the chaos. Everything was so loud in Armin’s ringing ears, the pain of his wound still washing over him like the huge waves breaking over the deck. The scene passed in flashes, in glimpses of light from dim lanterns. One moment they were scrambling for the ladders and the next they were above deck, the rain coming down in lashes, open to the wind and the ocean. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Armin was frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like the sky was moving, dragging the moon and stars downwards as the ship, so tiny compared to the mountainous waves, struggled to stay upright. There was just enough light to see by where the thunderous clouds broke, and the few lanterns which kept shining through the weather stuck out like small suns. The black ocean roared as if fighting the wind, its bottomless, gaping mouth threatening to swallow the ship and its crew whole. Armin did not want to lie with his parents’ bones on the ocean floor, but he feared under these waves he may have no say in the matter. They must have seen the majesty of the world like this, he realised, staring in awe up at it all. What a </span>
  <em>
    <span>view;</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was beautifully terrifying. To sail right into an incoming wave required a kind of bravery he never thought he would possess, but as the Sina headed straight for it, Armin felt a thrill and a terror he’d never known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least until it hit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The force of the water was enough to knock Armin back, sending him halfway across the ship, drenching him in freezing water that got into his mouth and eyes, the salt making him wince. He couldn’t stand up. The ship was almost vertical, the front lifted up by the wave, and Armin didn’t notice he was screaming until he stopped and felt a strong hand gripping the back of his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jean shouted over the rain, clinging to a length of rope with one hand and Armin with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - Jean!” Armin cried back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to die out here. He was going to be washed right off the ship - what reason did Jean have to help him? What was keeping him holding on? There was no use in a scholar who didn’t know the first thing about the ocean except his own love for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jean didn’t let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the ship evened out, Armin scrambled forwards, stumbling into Jean, clinging to him like he’d die if he let go. He was pathetic, he knew he was. In the distance, through the rain, Armin saw the captain at the ship’s helm, saw their heroic silhouette commanding the crew fearlessly. He saw Jean in their movements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Jean gasped, taking Armin by the hand and dragging him over to the side of the ship as another freezing wave shattered like glass over their heads. He took his length of rope and wrapped it tight around Armin’s wrist, securing the knot as Armin struggled in vain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?!” he panicked. “Jean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up a second,” Jean told him, bracing himself under the rain, pulling the rope taut. “Stay here, you hear me? You’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to take the sails in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s too dangerous! Let me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and do what I tell you!” Jean shouted. Armin shook his head as he looked upwards, saw the masts bending under the force of the wind, the sails stretched out to breaking point - but there was nothing he could do as Jean ran fearlessly into danger, heading straight for the rigging to climb up into the sails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another wave broke over Armin and he lost sight of him. Helpless, all Armin could do was struggle against the rope and shout for Jean to come back - but he was gone. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Armin had no words for the sheer terror he felt. Tied by the wrist to the side of the ship, he could do nothing but watch. It was as if he had been dropped right into one of his grandfather’s stories, but remained an observer - as all the other sailors got to work, he was bound to where he was, shivering and bleeding and though he was ashamed to admit it, crying. All around, the others were at work. Captain Hange commanded fearlessly at the helm, steering the ship directly into the oncoming waves. Armin saw Reiner with Bertholdt, strong arms wrapped around him as a wave hit, but he lost sight of them after the water sliced over the deck and soaked Armin through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up above, Jean was fearless. Armin watched as he scaled the rigging, relying on nothing but his own strength to keep from blowing away in the howling wind. It was so strong it caused the masts to bend and bow to the force of nature. The ship howled like it was in agony, the wind screaming through the sails and making the old wooden structures cry out. It was deafening, painfully so, and Armin covered his ears and closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was anywhere else. He didn’t belong here, he knew that. He wished he’d listened to Jean and gone home when he had the chance. The thrill was gone and only fear remained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes proved to be worse. When he didn’t know the waves were coming he couldn’t brace against them and ended up with a mouth full of saltwater that stung his throat as he choked on it. Armin was forced to keep watching uselessly; Jean was up there, doing his job - being a hero - while Armin was stuck in place. He couldn’t look away from Jean, watching him scale the ropes until he was at the very top of the mast, bringing in the sails. Though he tried to call out to Jean, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the wind stole his voice and carried his words away before anyone could hear his pleas. If he wasn’t such a weak, spineless coward, Armin thought, he’d be there doing his duties alongside them. What was the use in telling Captain Hange that he was a hard worker when cowering like this in the face of danger? Why had he been so arrogant as to underestimate the danger he was facing? The ocean had taken his parents away from him - he should have known it would be like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right then, he regretted ever boarding the Sina. Armin didn’t want to die like this - he didn’t want to sink to the bottom of the ocean with his grandfather's stories, tales that would die out with him as Armin never had anyone to share them with. He was going to die lonely, with nobody to remember him. The thought ripped a sob from him, and he curled up and clung to the side, just waiting for the wave that would tear the boat to pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Armin expected certain death, Jean was the one there as he opened his eyes again, shouting something he couldn’t hear over the wind. He was soaked through but </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>having made it back down after bringing in the back sails. His shirt, like Armin’s, was soaking wet and clung to his skin, and his hair stuck to his face. Even through his fear, Armin was struck by how absurdly handsome he was, a surreal thought that almost made him forget where he was. When it was obvious he wasn’t being heard, Jean grabbed Armin by the shoulders and pulled him close to speak in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to take down the other sails,” he told Armin, who could scarcely bring himself to believe Jean hadn’t fallen in. His head was still pounding, body shivering beyond his control, the bitter taste of seawater on his tongue and its sting in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Armin gasped, using his free hand to grasp Jean’s wet shirt. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry for boarding this ship!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t hear you!” Jean called back, and then his hands were at his wrist again, untying the sailor’s knot that held him in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean!” came a voice that billowed over the noise, a voice that could only belong to someone as imposing and huge as Reiner. Armin saw him once he came closer, and his stomach clenched when he saw his expression of sheer panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner!” Jean replied, leaving Armin to stand up and grab Reiner’s arm so they both didn’t fall when the ship tilted sideways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get below deck? Bertholdt - Bert - I can’t find him, he’s not up here, but I can’t leave the others! Historia’s up in the rigging, and -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Reiner urged. Armin could hear the desperation in the way his voice cracked on the word. “I - you know I make him stick close to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Reiner. Alright - you and I will stay here, we need to take down the mainsails,” Jean replied, his voice loud and commanding like leadership came as naturally to him as breathing. He turned to Armin and grabbed him by the wrist again. “You’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find Bertholdt and make sure he’s alright,” Jean said, not giving Armin a chance to protest or ask the question they were obviously both thinking - what if he wasn’t down there? “You’re the best person for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin didn’t understand how he could be the best person for </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>on this godforsaken ship, but he followed Jean’s lead, knowing he knew best and not wanting to question his authority when there was so much at stake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” he called, hoping there was some way he would be able to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And see to your head!” Jean yelled, grabbing his arm and running with him to the hatch that would take him below. The deck was slippery and Armin nearly tripped, terrified that a wave would come and sweep them both away, but they made it and Jean held open the hatch while Armin scrambled inside, facing a whole new set of fears. Though the wind wasn’t as loud, the creaking and groaning of the vessel itself was terrifying, and Armin felt like the ship could give in to the pressure of the wind and water at any moment. When he took a step forward he felt the splash of water beneath his shoes - it was getting in from somewhere, but Armin couldn’t see a thing - it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dark</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least above there were the dotted lights of lanterns that hadn’t gone out yet, but in the ship’s stomach, it was impossible to tell what was even right in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A different kind of panic washed over him. Claustrophobia, made worse by the endless dark, was closing in on him, the space feeling smaller and smaller. He couldn’t see, and he could barely hear a thing - how was he supposed to find Bertholdt? Everyone else was above deck. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt impossible. Someone like him wasn’t up to a task like this. What could he do? He was just an ignorant boy who spent his whole life on land and thought he could handle the ocean. Going up against nature herself was arrogant - getting aboard the ship in the</span>
  <em>
    <span> first </span>
  </em>
  <span>place was arrogant. Giving in was so tempting. He could just curl up on the floor and pray for it to be over… he could close his eyes, and pretend he was anywhere else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there were lives at stake, weren’t there? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not just his, but Bertholdt’s, too. If he was on the ship, he was down here somewhere in need of help. Armin thought back to what Jean said - </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘you’re the best person for it.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jean knew best, didn’t he? Trusting him was the only option Armin had if he wanted to prove his worth to both Jean and himself. He didn’t have a choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertholdt!” Armin cried out, hoping to hear him call in response, but it was hopeless. He was barely able to hear himself over the oppressive noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin couldn’t see a thing, but he knew where he was. He could feel the ladder he climbed down and used it as a point of reference, squeezing his eyes shut and visualising the boat like a map in his mind. This was the only thing he could do, but he could do it exceptionally well. To his right were the rows of small rooms where they all slept, at the end of which was the mess hall. The captains quarters were above deck. What else? The pantry, the storerooms, the medical bay - he could see the square rooms fall into place in the map. Of all the places aboard, where would Bertholdt be? Taking a deep breath, Armin put his mind to work. His cabin or any of the others seemed out of the question - Bertholdt wouldn’t have returned there after leaving with Reiner. He was strong and hardworking, and Armin knew he wouldn’t have abandoned any of the crew to hide or rest. If he came back down below, it must have been for a reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trickling of water was terrifying, but Armin ignored it, pushing everything out that wasn’t going to help him at that moment. He had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Never before had it mattered quite this much that he stayed focused and alert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The medical room. If Bertholdt came down there, he might have been helping someone else who was injured or looking for supplies, so it made sense he would be trying to help on his own rather than finding the ship doctor who was above deck with the rest of the sailors. Did that mean someone could be hurt? The thought made his stomach twist with fear. He knew how to care for </span>
  <em>
    <span>illness</span>
  </em>
  <span>, certainly - he had been doing that for most of his life - but not injury past the basics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When faced with a task so monumental Armin found that too many fears and thoughts began to overwhelm him at the same time, and had to will himself to stay in the moment and get to the medical room before worrying about anything else. Placing both hands on the wall next to him, Armin guided himself through the complete darkness, relying on the map in his mind to lead him in the right direction. As he clung to the wall, finding purchase where he could, a sudden wave he hadn’t anticipated sent the whole ship off course, and Armin had to hold onto one of the wooden beams, dangling in the air as the floor disappeared underneath him. The fear grew worse with each beat of his heart but Armin didn’t stop. Instead, he waited, squeezing his eyes tight shut until his feet had ground to stand on, and then continued, hoping with everything he had that Bertholdt would be safe and sound in the medical room as he predicted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertholdt!” he called out when he got to the door, banging on it with all his strength. When no answer came, he stumbled inside, feeling around for a person, a body, anything - but it was completely empty. Panic gripped him worse than ever before, not knowing what to do next, unsure how much strength he had left in him - but what choice did he have but to keep going? Forcing himself to move, Armin left the room, checking the mess hall, then the cabins, and even the pantry, but Bertholdt was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had disappeared - as if… </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There had to be something he was missing. While he could still stand and search, accepting the possibility that Bertholdt had fallen overboard was out of the question. What had he failed to consider? Was there a part of his map that was incomplete? Armin closed his eyes again and pushed the panic down. While he worried and berated himself, Bertholdt could be in trouble, needing his help. There was no time for self-doubt.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the best person for it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether it was true or not, Armin had to believe in what Jean told him. This wasn’t about either of them - it was about Bertholdt, and Armin needed to help. And then it hit him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cargo hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the only place he hadn’t searched, the only place Bertholdt could be if he was alive. The ladder that led down to the deepest part of the ship was just across from him; Armin remembered walking by the hatch every day. Ignoring everything but his goal, Armin headed straight for it, tripping more than once but getting up every time. He didn’t feel the ache of exhaustion in his bones, didn’t feel the cold from the seawater soaking him, didn’t feel any pain from his head wound - all that mattered was the path ahead of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Descending into the depth of the ship, Armin called Bertholdt’s name. The claustrophobia was worse in the hold, where Armin had no clue of the dimensions or what filled the space around him. He felt his breaths growing shallower, tainted by panic, until -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is someone there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin almost collapsed when he heard Bertholdt call for him, and he turned towards his voice, guided by it. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertholdt! It’s Armin!” he cried. “Do you need help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trapped,” Bertholdt shouted over the noise. “My leg…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming,” Armin assured him, feeling his way over, careful not to hurt himself on any of the huge boxes that filled the hold. When he reached out and felt the warmth of Bertholdt’s hand in his, Armin almost cried with relief, but he knew he couldn’t relax just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was checking to make sure nothing was damaged,” Bertholdt said, clinging onto him. It was clear by his voice that he was in a great amount of pain. “But why - why are you down here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner sent me to come and find you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reiner?” Bertholdt asked, and the love in his voice washed over Armin like a gentle wave, the only feeling of peace he’d known since before the rain started to fall. “Is he okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s fine, just worried about you,” Armin said. “But please, tell me what happened - can I get you out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came to check the cargo,” Bertholdt repeated. “But the ship turned, and my leg got trapped between two crates that weren’t properly secured… it’s too heavy for me to push alone at this angle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you injured?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hurts, but I’m sure nothing is broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Armin breathed, grateful for that at least. “Okay. Let’s push together, and if we can’t, I’ll get Reiner and Jean and bring them back to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we need to push forwards or to the side?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To the side,” Bertholdt said, “there’s cargo in the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin nodded, realised Bertholdt couldn’t see him, then got into position, placing both his hands on the heavy crate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On three?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On three. One, two, </span>
  <em>
    <span>three!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing with all he had, Armin was sure at first they wouldn’t be able to move the crate at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but eventually, it moved just an inch - enough for Bertholdt to get his leg free and climb the rest of the way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Armin asked frantically, praying they didn’t do more damage to his leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I’m fine,” Bertholdt said. They were both out of breath and had to take a moment to collect themselves. “How - how did you find me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I checked everywhere else,” Armin said. “If you can climb the ladder, we need to get to Reiner - he’s very worried…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course.” Armin felt Bertholdt’s large hand rest on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The journey back up to the top deck was far easier with another person there to keep Armin both sane and moving. It seemed, too, that the storm was calming - the ship stayed steady for the most part, though the rain still came pouring down relentlessly. Bertholdt was limping but able to walk. Armin let him climb the ladder up first, soaked through again the instant he was exposed to the rain, but that was no deterrent for an experienced sailor such as him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Armin made it up, finding himself able to see was a huge relief, and he immediately noticed the masts stood bare, meaning the sailors had done their job of taking them down so they did not tear from the severe gale. His eyes sought out Jean first, though Armin did not understand why he was so concerned to make sure the man was okay. It was just so he could thank him, he told himself. But he knew, deep down, that wasn’t quite it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Armin found him, he saw Reiner running towards them, and only then noticed Jean behind, looking just as relieved to see Bertholdt alive as Reiner did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay!” Reiner called. Armin expected the two men to hug, or for Reiner to clap Bertholdt on the shoulder like he often did, but when they brazenly kissed each other he jumped, feeling as though he was encroaching on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Armin smiled, though, immensely happy that he’d been able to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if it was very little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes met Jean’s, which were staring right back at him. They took a step towards each other, and then another, and then Jean was directly in front of him, still staring into his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” was all he said, but to Armin, it meant everything.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The storm, fierce as it was, eventually broke. Though the weather was still awful, it appeared the danger had passed, and the crew were given permission to return to their cabins for a short break before having to return to duty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was over, Armin’s pain began to settle and throb in his head, setting in alongside sheer exhaustion. He found it hard to move, his arms stiff and aching as he climbed down the ladder. Tired and freezing cold, Armin returned with Jean to their cabin with blood matted in his hair and clothes soaked with seawater and rain. All he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and sleep until they reached Japan. But there was one thing he needed to do first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin’s heart was in this throat as he knelt down in front of his suitcase, tears in his eyes. He was so scared that his grandfather’s books didn’t survive the assault of water - if he lost those stories Armin wasn’t sure he would be able to go on. Jean watched as he flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Armin let out a sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The few shirts he kept folded atop the rest of his luggage had absorbed the water that had gotten inside - each and every book was just fine, as dry as ever, just as he had left them hours before. Armin’s hands shook as he turned the pages, and he couldn’t hold back his tears. The sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief </span>
  </em>
  <span>he felt made it impossible to hold back his tears, and Armin sobbed there on the floor, more broken down and tired than he had ever been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never seen someone care so much about a book,” Jean muttered. Armin didn’t have the strength for a rebuttal. He was too tired to feel scared or even irritated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They mean a lot to me,” he said softly, hiccuping a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was always so uncomfortable when they were alone; they were so different neither had the first clue what to say. Armin checked each of his books, and when he was done, he couldn’t move. The monumental task of changing his clothes and climbing up into his hammock seemed far too much. Closing his eyes, Armin leant against the wall and felt sleep starting to take him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t,” Jean said, setting down the lantern and kneeling in front of Armin. “You’re not going to sleep soaking wet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to go back out for watch, don’t we?” Armin murmured with his eyes still closed. “You should be telling me not to sleep at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid,” Jean replied. “You’re injured; you’ll sleep until morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin brought his hand to his head and felt his tender wound and the blood in his hair. It hurt. But he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to sleep,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you can’t,” Jean snapped, but then he let out a sigh, and kneeled down in front of Armin. “Let me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Armin said, leaning back. “No, it’s fine, I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Come here,” Jean said. Armin barely had a chance to react before Jean was directly in front of him, holding a damp cloth and some bandages that Armin didn’t even realise he had until then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes met, and suddenly the air was charged with static, an intense feeling growing around them. Armin felt as if his body was frozen as he stared at Jean, at his normally sharp hazel eyes that were now softened by… fondness? No, that couldn’t be possible. Armin was sure he must have been imagining things, delusions fueled by exhaustion - that could not have been a blush on Jean’s cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An eternity passed in a moment. Jean, eventually, raised the cloth to Armin’s head and began to clean his wound, gentle and careful with his movements. Armin couldn’t breathe. Jean’s face was right there, just inches from his own, and his heart was beating louder than the rain, faster than the wind. Who was this tender man? Where was the Jean who had shouted at him, who had told him he didn’t belong here? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin closed his eyes and waited for the mood to shift back to the frosty tension they normally shared, but it never came. And still, he could not hold back his questioning nature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you tie me to the deck?” he asked softly. He was afraid to speak any louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would have fallen off if I hadn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you would say I deserved it, for not being strong enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jean murmured. “But I’ll say you’re in no position to question me still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s hardly-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is what it is,” Jean said, and then Armin was silent. That quiet stretched out until it was taut and ready to snap. “You did well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin’s whole body reacted to the praise as if not sure whether to delight in it or reject it outright. It was the first Jean had ever given him, but did he even deserve it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” he whispered. “I fear you were right about me all along. I understand it now… I’m useless aboard this ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean’s jaw clenched and he pulled back, looking at Armin sternly. “Go and tell that to Bertholdt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone could have done that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Jean countered, “but you were the one who did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin was quiet after that. His heart couldn’t take any more; he was too tired to do anything but sit and let Jean so carefully take care of his wound. He watched his hands, saw how they were large and strong and weathered from years of hard work. Armin’s were small and soft and calloused in just one place - where he held his pen. The differences between them were clear as day when looking at their hands. It made Armin feel ashamed, lost in his thoughts as Jean gently wrapped the bandages around his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” was all he could bring himself to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, if it got worse you wouldn’t be able to work,” Jean replied. “Get changed and get some rest; you need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin nodded. “I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you have to say, it can wait until morning,” Jean said, kneeling in front of the chest in front of his hammock and pulling out a key. “Here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The key to your chest,” Jean replied. “Don’t lose it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin took the old metal key from him and turned it over in his hands, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you giving me this now?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean stood at the door and gave his answer without meeting Armin’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your luggage is an eyesore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, he was gone - leaving Armin all alone to question everything as he used the last of his energy to change his clothes and climb into his hammock for desperately needed rest.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the delay between this chapter and the last one - i had a pretty bad bout of depression and writer's block but i'm feeling a little better and i'm back to writing :) anyway, hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For reasons unknown to Armin, he was allowed to sleep for the entire day. He woke up just in time for dinner, feeling as if the entire storm had been nothing more than some terrible nightmare - at least until he shifted slightly and the pain from his head wound reminded him the ordeal had been very much real. For a while, Armin lay unmoving in his hammock, eyes closed, listening to the muddled conversations of other sailors through the walls and taking in the scent of dinner. When his stomach growled in anticipation, Armin heard Jean shift, presumably to look over at him. Armin didn’t dare open his eyes, but he felt the familiar shiver down his spine he always got when Jean’s eyes were on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you awake?” came his voice, low and not too loud. Armin waited for a moment before responding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he hummed. “I’m awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s time for dinner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tone of his voice brought the memories back. Armin remembered Jean there, gently bandaging his head, handing him the key to the chest… being so sweet with him, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>unlike</span>
  </em>
  <span> himself. Armin couldn’t make any more sense of it after a full day of rest than he could when he was in the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you let me sleep the whole day?” Armin asked. Reaching up to touch his head gingerly, he winced at the pain. There was a huff from Jean and then a brief silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d have been a hindrance trying to work with an injured head like that,” he replied eventually. Armin wished he could see his expression, and wondered if it was as haughty as his tone - but Jean’s back was turned to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” was all he said. Again, he tried not to recall Jean’s tender attentions from the night before, but it was difficult to shake the feeling. He found himself wondering - was Jean truly as gentle and fond as he remembered, or was Armin just trying to find a glimpse of affection where there was none? Was he making things up again, just to cope? He had to talk about something else. “How’s the ship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little battered, but nothing she hasn’t survived before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Armin said again. “Well, I suppose that’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jean said. He was being curt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As far as storms go… that must have been a very bad one, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly,” Jean said, surprising Armin, who couldn’t imagine facing anything worse. “I’ve experienced at least two dozen stronger in my time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Impressed, Armin sat up a little more. He was intrigued, there was no denying that - Jean was just as fascinating as he was confusing. Though, Armin thought, perhaps that was why he couldn’t get him out of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must have some incredible stories!” he said, hoping to be able to write them down someday. “I’d love to hear them…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe sometime,” Jean muttered, which for him was a rather polite way of saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>That evening Armin ate twice his normal rations, as both Reiner and Bertholdt gave him half of theirs as thanks. The pair sat either side of him, embarrassing Armin greatly as Reiner told the rest of the crew all about his journey below deck to help Bertholdt - he had wanted to keep it quiet and to himself, but that was impossible. Reiner drank a decent portion of his rum ration for the week, and laughed merrily, treating Armin like a king. To Armin, it was both humiliating and unjustified, but he didn’t think he could stop Reiner if he tried, as he was loud to a fault and bringing laughter to the rest of the crew as well. All he could hope was that Jean wouldn’t have too much to say about the entire thing when they were alone once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was middle watch that night. After being checked over by the ship doctor, Armin was deemed fit enough to continue working, which honestly, Armin was glad for. Being forced to rest in the sickbay was only another thing that would alienate him from the rest of the crew and make him more different than he already was. Armin knew he didn’t fit in, and he didn’t want to give Jean even more reasons to hate him, even though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one that let Armin rest the whole day. Still - resting more was unnecessary, and that was a relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult, especially with the pain in his head that never seemed to relent, but he didn’t complain once throughout the entire four-hour shift. In fact, he barely spoke a word at all, except when muttering to himself, repeating affirmations that he desperately hoped would keep his pessimism from rearing its ugly head. And strangely he found that thinking of Jean’s sweetness and those gentle hands soothed his nerves and protected him from the cold. Armin tried not to look at him too much, and didn’t understand his temptations in the slightest; all he could tell was that he wanted to look at Jean. Perhaps he thought that by looking often he might find some kind of answer to Jean’s strange personality, but Armin couldn’t seem to think about much at all when he studied Jean’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he forced himself to keep his eyes on the stars. When he was able to focus, the time passed by much faster, and before he knew it he was allowed to rest once again.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sunday came gently, with a sunrise Armin peacefully slept right through. It was the crew’s one day of rest, so besides the first essential duties, the sailors were permitted free time to do whatever they pleased. Armin had spent his first Sunday sleeping away his seasickness, but now that had been cured, he wasn’t sure what to do. Above deck, the most popular activity was drinking, which Armin didn’t really like to do, but he felt pressured by both Jean and himself to fit in. As much as he wanted to hide away with his books, Armin thought he’d be better off making an effort. Maybe, he thought, he could take a notebook with him and ask one of the others for their greatest tales of adventure since Jean was so unwilling to share his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found them on the far end of the deck; Ymir, Reiner, Bertholdt and Historia, laughing and passing around a bottle as they played cards. Armin was too nervous to approach at first. He stood there watching with a pencil and a blank journal tucked under his arm, trying to convince himself to go over, but only found the courage when Reiner spotted him and waved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armin!” he called. “Come and sit with us, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gripping his pencil a little tighter, Armin made his way over and sat with them, unsure of what to say. Being stuck on this boat made it impossible to be alone all the time, Armin reminded himself. This was good. This was progress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to play in the next round?” Historia asked. “It’s poker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Armin nodded. “I used to play-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” Reiner interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “If his poker skills are anything like his chess skills, I’m sitting out. I don’t feel like losing </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing a good enough job of that on your own,” Ymir smirked. “Don’t be such a coward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Armin said. He felt like he was intruding. “Actually, I was just going to ask if you’d mind telling me some stories…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a bedtime story?” Reiner chuckled. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to ask Jean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a bedtime story,” Armin said, smiling a little despite himself. “A story as in something exciting or interesting you’ve experienced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, in that case,” Ymir said, “I can tell you about the first time Historia and I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ymir!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Historia exclaimed, shoving Ymir in the side, her face bright red. Ymir cackled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to hear that,” Bertholdt mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a great story for you,” Reiner said, sitting beside Armin, offering him a swig of his drink, which Armin declined. “About the time I caught a shark while fishing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>again,” Ymir sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You caught a shark?” Armin asked, intensely interested. He had always wanted to see a shark in person, as terrifying as that may be. He gripped his pencil tightly, waiting to hear what he had to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t catch a shark,” Historia giggled. “There’s no chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did! </span>
  </em>
  <span>The damn thing was bigger than me, teeth like a beast. I was sat off the deck, fishing, then all of a sudden the line </span>
  <em>
    <span>yanked</span>
  </em>
  <span> downwards, and I could barely keep ahold of the rod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you considered the possibility that you’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Braun?” Ymir grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what would that make you, considering that I’ve beaten you in every test of strength you’ve challenged me to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It makes me very kind and gracious for letting you win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the pair bickered, Armin took the opportunity to scribble down everything Reiner had said so far. He took notes in shorthand, deciding he would write up the tale fully once he had the time and details, then waited patiently for Reiner to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the shark,” Reiner went on, ignoring Ymir’s scoff. “The whole rod was bending so far, I thought it was about to break. I started to reel it in, using all my strength, but then it goes slack, and I think I must have lost whatever was on the end of the line… but it was just swimming upwards, and then this great </span>
  <em>
    <span>beast </span>
  </em>
  <span>leaps from the ocean, baring rows of sharp teeth, and in my surprise the damn thing rips the rod from my hands and takes it with him back into the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fascinating,” Armin breathed, leaning forwards excitedly, his eyes shining in anticipation. “What did it look like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It must have been three times the size of me,” Reiner said. “Teeth the size of fingers! I thought it might have swallowed me whole. Its mouth was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gaping, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and deep inside I could see the blackness of its stomach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amazing,” Armin murmured, writing so intensely that he didn’t notice Jean walking over. “And its colour? Any markings?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was scarred and grey,” Reiner explained. “I didn’t get the best look at it, but that one glimpse is seared into my memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it is,” Ymir snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertholdt believes me! Don’t you, love?” Reiner asked, looking at Bertholdt. The use of the nickname made Armin feel fond but at the same time as if this was something he shouldn’t be watching. Armin had no idea why. Reiner and Bertholdt were open about their partnership, and obviously comfortable with Armin witnessing it, but still he felt nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you,” Bertholdt nodded, though it was obvious that even he had his doubts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to know what I think?” Ymir said. “I think you dropped your fishing rod into the ocean and had to make up some elaborate story as an excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner looked like he was about to bicker with her some more, but was interrupted when Jean sat down in their circle, right between Armin and Historia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this the shark story again?” he asked. Armin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” Reiner said. “Are you alright, Jean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Jean asked. His shoulders were hunched up, and Armin scooted away from him nervously, feeling like he might lash out at any moment. “Are you playing poker, or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are,” Historia said. “Are you joining us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean nodded. There was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> about him, something Armin couldn’t place, something he was trying desperately to ignore. If he reacted then Jean might react and end up making everything worse, and Armin really didn’t want that, especially when they were with the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Historia dealt the cards and they played with their wages, keeping the stakes small. Armin wasn’t willing to bet more than he could afford to lose - which wasn’t all that much anyway, considering that he had to fund an entirely new life once they reached Japan. It was almost impossible for Armin to either relax or pay attention to the game while he sat next to Jean. Nerves crept up his spine; all Armin could think about was why Jean had come to wit next to him of all people. Or, more likely, Jean just wanted to spend time with </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends, and Armin was getting in the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To cope with his fears Armin daydreamed about how he would elaborate upon Reiner’s story. He loved to take tales and write them in his own way, adding narration and making the descriptions come to life while staying true to what happened. Over the years, Armin had novelised many of his grandfather’s longer stories, and they were all hidden away in his journals beside the tales as told to him word by word. Armin cherished them like he treasured the books his grandfather had written himself years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway through their game of poker, the group was interrupted by a shout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whales!” came Onyankopon’s voice, calling from up in the rigging where he was manning the sails.  Just the word made Armin’s heart soar, and he leapt to his feet, dropping all his cards but holding on tight to his journal. He ran to the side of the deck, gazing out in the direction his friend was pointing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment of staring out at the pristine ocean before Armin saw any sign of movement, but then he spotted it - a mist spraying upwards and out, each droplet glimmering, and shining bright in the sun. And then in a burst of water in the distance, the first whale breached, shooting straight up into the air and turning gracefully before landing with a great splash. Two more followed after it, then another, and Armin was so full of emotion he felt as if he were about to laugh or burst into tears or kiss the closest person to him, full of such a childlike glee, his whole body bright and warm like the sun was shining out of his chest. The creatures were so magnificent, more at home in the water than even Jean claimed to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin didn’t even reach for his journal. In fact, he forgot about it entirely as he stared, transfixed, the other sailors crowding the edge of the deck for a chance to see the whales as they burst from the ocean and into the air. Bertholdt was holding tightly onto Reiner’s hand, and even Ymir was speechless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armin recalled the way his grandfather described seeing whales on his own voyages across the ocean, remembered his vivid descriptions and feeling like he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but nothing compared to living the experience for himself. Every sense of his was alight with joy. The taste of the salty air on his tongue, the beautiful splashes of water as the whales met the ocean again, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sight </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them - the hair on the back of Armin’s neck was standing up, shivers all over him while the sun warmed his face. He found himself crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, he felt like he understood, even if only for the briefest of moments. Every bout of seasickness, every sleepless night, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>storm -</span>
  </em>
  <span> those troubles were worth it now. Armin couldn’t imagine any negative experience being able to outweigh the beautiful act of nature before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could capture this sight forever,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, and jumped when he was spoken to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me those,” Jean demanded, holding his hand out. It took Armin a second to drag his eyes away from the whales and look up at Jean standing beside him. Realising that Jean wanted his journal and pencil, he tensed up a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?” he asked, eyes darting between Jean and the ocean. Were the whales getting closer? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just do it, will you?” Jean insisted, and Armin did as he told him, passing his journal over and feeling awfully confused as to what he wanted to do with it, considering Armin knew he couldn’t read or write. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re swimming over!” Historia cried gleefully. Armin gasped, looking away from Jean to lean over the edge and see that the group of grey whales were indeed coming, seemingly intrigued but not scared by the ship. Never had he been so tempted to jump off the side and into the water below, just so he could get a closer look at the friendly whales. Two of them, now close enough to touch the ship, did just that and bumped their heads against the wood, causing several of the sailors to cry out with excitement and joy. Captain Hange was alight - Armin had never seen them so energetic, and even the first mate cracked a smile. Getting a closer look, Armin observed the white undersides of the whales’ mouths, their small eyes and some of the unique scars the oldest of the group carried. Armin wasn’t sure what he wouldn’t have given to know their stories, wishing more than anything for just one conversation with them. He was laughing and crying at the same time, wiping his eyes only for more tears to instantly form, and gave up trying to hold it back eventually, just taking it all in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a small, infant whale swimming close to its mother that made Armin even more emotional. He watched intently, then finally reached for his notebook before remembering Jean had it. Curious, he peered over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Jean snapped, holding it close to his chest so Armin couldn’t see. “Hang </span>
  <em>
    <span>on.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll see if you have a little patience,” Jean replied. Armin kept looking between him in the whales, having no choice but to trust Jean wasn’t doing something bad to his journal, and waited. He didn’t want to make Jean even angrier at him. After several minutes, he was done. “There.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jean handed the journal back, Armin nervously flicked to the page Jean had been working on, wondering what he’d been doing for so long. If not writing, then what? Could Jean read after all, and if he could, did he read what Armin had been writing in there? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly realised just how wrong he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just the next page over from Reiner’s story was a sketch that took up both sides of the paper. Jean’s art was almost identical to what Armin saw when he looked up. He had captured the beauty of the breaching whales perfectly - there was so much movement to his art. Even though it was just a still image, the art told a story that words could not, and Armin was in </span>
  <em>
    <span>awe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The water looked like it really was shining in the sun, even as a rough sketch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You - you did that?” Armin exclaimed, looking up, but Jean had already walked away. Armin saw him heading back up the rigging, his back turned, but the tips of his ears tinted red. He wanted to chase after him, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, and tell him just how much he admired what he had done, but he paused, scared to run after him when Jean must have walked away for a reason. They could talk in private.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking again between the sketch and its inspiration, Armin tearily smiled. He touched the page and then his bandaged head, wondering who on earth Jean really was and if he would ever be able to understand him. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! don't forget to leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>